


Year 5 - Stockholm

by ravengabrielle



Series: The Years [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackmail, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Dark Magic, Dominance, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Intense, M/M, Multi, Obsessive Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Passion, Romance, Smut, Teen Romance, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-01 00:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 148,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravengabrielle/pseuds/ravengabrielle
Summary: YEAR 5 - Hermione is blackmailed into being Draco Malfoy's pet at the expense of her friends safety. He becomes obsessive and controlling of all aspects of her life. The harder she fights, the more close he becomes. Draco becomes more human than monster. So she is swallowed up into the web he's laid for her. There is no way out. Without him. (Slow burn, Dramione story.)





	1. Chapter 1

# CHAPTER 1

#### The Idea

Blue light filtered in through floor length windows as the noon sun glared down on Scotland. September brought in a new term at Hogwarts. Returning Slytherins lounged in the dark, round common room as friends filtered in from summer holiday with stories to tell. It was a quiet affair. There were gentle nods of recognition to one another as their brought in their school things, trunks and pets and the like. 

Most wore their casual clothes from home. Pansy Parkinson, a loud-mouthed brunette, dressed in her navy pencil skirt, green silk blouse, matched navy peacoat covered with fur and ankle boots with brass studs fitted round the ankles. She pulled off her two Slytherin-green gloves.

“They made the best choice making us prefects, didn’t they, Draco?” A pair of oversized black shades were tossed onto the nearby couch. A second-year girl sat in the very spot. She sat stunned with the sunglasses in her hands until she was convinced with the death glare of Pansy to move across the room. “It will take some work. This house has fallen to ninnies. But, I think there is some real potential.”

Beside her was childhood friend and on-again-off again boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. A wealthy heir to ancient family money and land, Draco was the most prestigious student to attend Hogwarts. Apart from world famous, Harry Potter. However, amongst the Slytherin students, Harry Potter did not count for much. 

It was their house that was sworn enemy to Harry Potter and his associates.

More tense were the state of things. The Dark Lord was said to have returned. And none of the other students, not even the long-reaching ears of Pansy Parkinson, realized that Draco Malfoy had spent the entire summer holiday with the Dark Lord since he was risen. 

Times turned darker, full of danger for all, without their knowledge.

“Shut it, Pans. I listened to you all the way on the train. I don’t want to hear another word of it.”

She faked a gasp, much to his irritation. “I hardly spoke. It was that know-it-all that talked the entire ride.”

Crabbe and Goyle, Draco’s two closest friends better described as henchmen, descended their dormitory stairs. Each huffed at their own rapid pace. Goyle dropped his hands to his knees, panting like a beast.

Neither was brilliant. They had the minds of followers. Draco’s father associated with the two senior wizards in their side-interests and came to the same conclusion as Draco: it is better to have simple-minded friends in need of direction rather than those of equal intelligence. 

“Keep your company controlled and your enemies stimulated,” Lucius instructed his son before he boarded his first train to Hogwarts. Age eleven was old enough to start the build of another manipulative generation of pureblood wizard. 

Draco stared with a curled lip as they flopped onto the furniture, letting their robes become wrinkled and tangled like animals. His frustration mounted.

He took the chair across, adjusted his trousers as he sat, unfolded a newspaper and read in silence as his classmates moved in. Headlines smeared Harry Potter in every crease. It lifted his spirits. There was something of relief that Saint Potter was not as beloved as he once was.

A fall from grace was just what Merlin ordered as far as Draco was concerned.

Two more Slytherin students joined the gathering of fifth year students. Daphne, who took her place at Pansy’s side with a story of a new pool boy in their French estate, and Blaise Zabini. Blaise preferred his distance. He sat in a stand-alone chair near enough to be heard, but far enough to be kept out of conversation if he wished, as he so often did. The wizard thought himself above everyone. Draco Malfoy, included. 

However, on this day, the gods of favor shined down on the den of serpents and brought forth a friendly greeting from the Italian. He said their name, solemn in tone and blank in expression, before he sank into his seat.

They’d all believed the interaction over. It was Blaise after all. Draco kept to his reading since it was bound to be all his free time for the year with prefect duties now expected of him. Daphne continued to regale Pans with the torrid affair. The former witch steamed with jealousy. Goyle and Crabbe sat in total silence. As usual. 

Things were normal within the house until Blaise spoke.

“Did you lot see Granger on the train?”

A newspaper folded in half. Draco’s curious expression peered over top. “Never knew you to be interested in a mudblood, Blaise.”

His dark eyes glared. “Interested in a manner of speaking.”

It caught attention. Everyone’s. 

Crabbe even looked up from his bag of crisps. “Did you hear ‘im, Draco? He’s talking about Granger.”

Draco casted a sharp glance. 

A pureblood wizard was expected to keep his bloodline clean. Blaise came from a lineage that consisted of all magical peoples, as most did within Slytherin. It was an object of mind for the house. Purity. They carried on ancient traditions of nobility by enriching their blood rather than diluting it with muck. A muggleborn witch was off limits. A mudblood was off limits to all purebloods, men and women.

“Can’t say you haven’t noticed her. She’s a pretty little thing. Tight. Firm.” He pressed out the wrinkles of his trousers with his palms. Slender tan trousers hugged Blaise’s body as a white button-up shirt with the last few left undone and a shimmering silver vest rested. In one ear was an enchanted family ring of purple Charoite. “I’d love to keep that smart mouth on a leash.”

Pansy snorted. “Least you’d get to whip her then.”

“Among other things.” A delighted grin twisted Blaise’s face. 

The girls recoiled.

Goyle wiggled in his seat. “Oh! I know. You can get her to do your schoolwork for you. Won’t have a choice, will she? If she’s on your leash.”

“Only,” Pansy added in, “you’ll have to scourgify your hand. Fiendfyre if you touch her.”

“What I’d do wouldn’t need punishing.” A fire burned in Blaise’s eye. “Teach the filth a few things about wizards that she doesn’t know.”

“Leave it to a half breed,” Goyle said menacingly.

It was difficult to imagine him as a powerful wizard with chocolate still on his hands from the train in. No matter how cruel his father was, his son ate the childish treat of chocolate frogs as if they were an extinct creature. 

He kept his focus on the paper. Mudbloods did not interest him. The one at the school angered him enough. He did not want to waste more mental faculty on her unless needed.

Blaise cleared his throat. “A pureblood would do it better. We do everything better, don’t we? Besides, what a treat for Granger. A purpose in the wizarding world after all.”

“What makes you think she wants a purpose?” Draco sneered. “She is a Gryffindor. They’re born with purpose in their veins, aren’t they? Or is it garishness? I forget.”

It was an inadmissible look, the one that Blaise wore. A similar look was in the Dark Lord’s eye as he spoke of his plans for the world, a demonic sound to his voice as he rang ragged nails along the edges of a map. Both bore the sign of pure evil. 

Evil was not a thing Draco Malfoy considered himself. He was too well-bred. Lords didn’t bother themselves with issues of the common folk; they did not matter. A Malfoy remained long after the Dark Lord’s defeat and was around before the man emerged with a mad man’s dream.

It was right to support a wizard who promised more power. His father never missed an opportunity to gain leverage over a person, no matter what the cost. It made him invaluable. 

All his life Draco aspired to be that skilled. Manipulation was the greatest tool, an edge he kept fatal and sharp, drawn at a moment’s notice.

“Girl like that. They want all sort of things they don’t realize. Especially a leash,” he explained.

Draco contemplated the idea as the conversation surpassed his attention. It was wicked. Granger as a slave, though, for his own pleasure was a satisfying way to even the score of top score every term as though he was not the son of a noble house, more qualified to own a wand than a muggleborn girl.

Granger. His own little puppet to control in every aspect he wished. 

The taut nature of his cock believed it a splendid idea.

He wondered if his father would like the idea. Death was best for any mudblood, but humiliation was a close second. Granger was the Gryffindor princess, the ideal witch for the world, Harry Potter’s very best friend. If she were to be bound to Draco Malfoy, it would ruin the reputation of those around her, not only herself. 

Time for the welcoming ceremony drew all students to the Great Hall. Slytherins marched together. Draco, at the front of the crowd, led the fellow peers into an open space filled with four long tables. Each for a different Hogwarts house. 

One for the serpent. One for the eagle. One for the lion. One for the badger. 

The lions were already seated at their table. Potter, Weasley, and Granger sat in the same three places they had since beginning of Hogwarts. Malfoy sat two tables away, faced at Granger. 

She was pretty, for one of that kind. Her hair was more managed than previous years, though it still needed work. There were straightening balms. Didn’t she know? All the witches knew. 

Granger wore her school uniform. It was a standard black skirt, sweater, blouse and tie. There was not an ounce of makeup on her face. Something witches knew of, as well. Still, as Draco inspected every inch of her, there was little need. Her complexion was rather nice. It was pale and radiated a natural glow that didn’t come from cosmetics.

A book was under her right hand on the bench beside her. The text was the one required for charms class. He read through it the week before.

One of the Gryffindor boys, the one who liked to blow up things, snaked an arm over her shoulder. The bloody hell that wizard think he was doing? Draco’s knuckles cracked as he struggled to keep his mouth closed. Apparently, the Gryffindor said something funny. The rest of the group laughed. Except, Granger. She shoved him away. 

Draco settled in his seat, satisfied that if he was going to own on person in the world, it’d be Hermione Granger, the miracle mudblood. She would be a crowning jewel. A mark of quality to any who shared his values.

He kept his eye on her during the rest of the feast as she enjoyed it with her friends like they hadn’t spent the entire summer together in the same bed at the Weasley’s hovel. The more he thought on it, the more he realized how unfit it was for any witch. Even one like Granger deserved better. She was rather attractive as girls went. If she’d stayed Muggle, Draco imaged a wealthy heir like himself might find himself rather enthralled with someone as smart as her. That alone was a rarity.

Weasley was an awful choice for her. He’d have to cull that option right out of her head if he were to fully gain control of her.

There were few Slytherin girls who were smart in the slightest sense. Daphne slept with wizards for their answers. She’d tried him the previous year. Pans failed until the traditional letter from her father bribed professors into a raise in grade. Millicent Bulstrode talked to her cats and private collection of skulls, ones that apparently talked back, and managed to keep above failure level. He was not certain with Tracey, but she once commented that the planet was not round as the Ministry stated but was in the shape of a disc.

Not intelligent by his standards.

No, Granger was a different breed. And he wanted her.

“Crabbe.” He nudged his elbow into his side. “Take Goyle and watch Granger tonight.”

Crabbe wrinkled his forehead. “Granger?”

“That’s what I said.”

“But…you don’t like her. Remember? She’s a filthy mudblood.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Follow her you git. And tell me everything. Every single thing. Got it?”

A biscuit was shoved into his friend’s mouth. Crumbs shed all down the front of the dark robes. Their golden sprinkles decorated one wizard or the other. Neither were free of their dribbles. Ever.

With a great sigh, he shooed them away. Their presence only frustrated the many brain cells it took to withstand the urge to lecture them on being worthy of their names rather than mindless followers. The advice from his father was well founded, but dull. He hated to communicate in a roundabout way with himself since they merely repeated what he said back as answers. 

Draco found himself bored with the others, too. It was too easy to predict their behaviors. That was why it drove his mad all the quicker. He knew to expect it. They came at the moment just when he saw them emerge the year before, and the year before that. 

He knew that on the other end of the table, Millicent chewed her nails into ragged claws as she tried to resist the pudding. It’d only be ten minutes before a stuffed plate made its way in front of her.

The foot that ran up the leg of his pants was obviously Pansy Parkinson. She was bored. Feasts in camaraderie helped her mind wander to more exciting things. Draco kicked the foot away. The yelp that answered was a plead for reconsideration. He had to close his legs to get the groping to stop.

It was all the same. Year after year. Time after time. Life was on repeat. The fun, sucked from the moment when he knew what to expect for weeks at a time. 

A challenge was exactly what he needed. There was much on his mind outside the walls of Hogwarts that always plagued his mind with anxiety. It would be a nice reprieve for a bit of thrill inside them. Change of scenery if you will.

He waited in the common room, delighted with his plan. 

Later, after he’d sulked around the castle to his fulfillment, Blaise entered the Slytherin common room with a book in one hand and the other shoved into his trouser pocket.

“Say, Draco.”

Draco looked up.

“What are your two goons doing in the library?” Blaise questioned skeptically. “Surprised they found the place to be honest. Neither of them know how to operate a book.”

“Following Granger,” he answered. “She was there, wasn’t she?”

Blaise snorted. “Course she was. It’s Granger.”

He settled in a lounge chair near the fire. His long body stretched out against the black leather. The wizard twisted to his side, ripped his wand out of his pocket, and threw it by his side before he fell back to his seat. 

Draco looked on in displeasure. Blaise’s newfound obsession with Granger started to concern him. With plans already laid, he wanted nothing to screw it up. Including Blaise Zabini. 

“What are they following her for?”

“Your idea.”

A look of confusion crossed his dark face. “My idea.”

Draco nodded. “It was brilliant. I just improved on it a bit.”

“Thinking of kidnapping Granger then, are you?”

“Yes.”

It was not met with doubt or amusement. It was silence. 

Crackles of fire filled the room. There was the soft echo of laughter from the girl’s dormitory. A gray striped cat darted down the steps donned in a fluffy white hat with matching booties. Draco and the cat shared a moment of eye contact. With one lift of his pale brow, the creature ran back the way it came. 

Blaise remained silent. He stared into the exposed hearth. The flames danced wildly in their place. Ash fell down below the grate where it was to be magically cleaned the next day by house elves employed by the castle. The dark brick was to be scrubbed of the black git by hand until it shined with the once brightness of a fresh brick. 

“You lack the finesse it will take,” Blaise stated. His eyes stayed captured by flame.

“Pardon?” Draco had been lost in his excitement as his plan sank further into his mind. It had to happen. He never thought of anything that would make him happier.

Blaise cleared his throat. “You haven’t the charm that will convince Granger. Whatever you plan, it won’t work.”

The longer Blaise concerned himself with Granger, the more Draco wanted to curse it out of his mouth. He did not share. 

“Any man other than myself to speak her name will meet the end of my wand.”

It was brought the next moment in answer to Blaise’s laugh. The wood was placed at the wizard’s throat. More insulting, he continued to chuckle.

“You don’t scare me, Draco. We all know you’re too soft.”

It’d been a relief to hear the challenge. He almost shook his hand before he shot a charm at his house mate.

“Alarte Ascendare.”

Blaise Zabini shot upward. He hit the cathedral ceiling with a booming thud and fell back to the lounge chair. As he landed, bones cracked. There was no exclamation of pain since the ceiling had rendered Blaise a living corpse. The slender length of the wizard rested awkwardly, half on the lounge and half on the floor. 

It served him right. Draco sheathed the wand back in place at his forearm. A wand was an extension of his magic. It was kept within easy reach for a moment’s need of a spell. Lack of preparation was his enemies’ fault, as his father always said. It was a waste to feel guilt when it was their own stupidity that brought them to the situation. 

He decided to wait in the dorm for Crabbe and Goyle. It was near curfew.

Granger was a goody-goody. It seemed unlikely that she was still out of Gryffindor Tower. 

If Crabbe and Goyle went to the Great Hall again, he’d kill them.

In the Slytherin dorm rooms, tall windows butted up against the Black Lake. It shined especially bright in the morning. Once in a while, a creature of the deep would emerge as a shadow throughout the blue. Mostly it was empty water.

There were ebony wood bedframes for each student with lush duvet covers embroidered with silver snakes with dense black eyes. Throughout the day the serpent moved throughout the fabric. It now rested at the foot of the bed. The eyes followed Draco as he moved throughout his space. 

He’d unpacked his trunk of his personal belongings like his tailored suits. All in black. School robes hanged right next. The fabric was inferior to the suits, but superior to the other students. 

Also among his belongings were dragon scale combs. They were a personal gift from his grandfather. It was from a dragon hunting expedition in China where he first met a witch that became Draco’s grandmother. The dragon they killed became extinct. Each comb was worth a hefty fortune, and he had two in his possession. 

The smooth rounded edges were a comfort. It reminded him of his grandparents house in the Netherlands where the combs were displayed proudly. Draco spent many moments in front of their case when he visited his grandparents.

They were still in hand when Crabbe and Goyle entered the dorm.

“What’s wrong with Zabini?” Goyle asked.

“The excitement of waiting for you two. He just couldn’t take it,” Draco sneered. “What took you so long? Thought I said to come back when you were done with Granger. Better not gone round that Hufflepuff again. She only gives you biscuits is because she likes you, Crabbe.”

Crabbe wrinkled his forehead. “We’ve only just finished with Granger. Barely made it back before curfew.”

That was odd. What was she doing out so late? 

“How was it then? The library. What was she reading?”

He fell to his bed, ankles crossed, hands behind his neck.

“Defense books. Old textbooks,” Goyle answered. “She checked four out. But that’s not all.”

That captured Draco’s attention. “Well?”

“We followed her to the Owlery,” Crabbe said.

The Owlery was where the owls of the school were kept. It was the one place a person went to send a letter, but not much else. A trek to the Owlery so close to curfew was suspicious. It would be a long dark walk there and back with not much except moonlight to guide. 

Hermione Granger was not a suspicious witch. Potter and Weasley did suspicious things; Granger was startling clear with her actions. A letter at night meant one thing. It was not something that she wanted her friends to see.

That interested Draco.

“The letter. Who was it to?” He questioned. “You did get a glance at it, didn’t you?”

“It was to Bulgaria. That’s all we saw.”

Krum.

Granger dated the oaf the year before during the Triwizard Tournament. He was the greatest seeker in the world. It was natural that they’d be drawn to each other. One had brains, the other didn’t. Not a smidge.

Well that’d have to stop.

“Next time. Stop her. Don’t let her send a letter to Bulgaria.”

The pair looked at each other with confusion. Draco clenched his jaw. Couldn’t they keep up?

“Yes?” He asked, annoyed that he was subject to question.

“Next time?”

He sighed. “Yes. Next time. Don’t let her send the letter. I want to read it first.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should warn that there are some MILD non-con situations.

# CHAPTER 2

#### Terms of Agreement

Two days into term and Hermione was furious. 

The Ministry of Magic, in their ignorant fear of Dumbledore, forced a new professor to assume the position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor: Dolores Umbridge. It rendered the class into a Kindy class. They supplied textbooks juvenile in writing and application. It boiled Hermione’s blood to hold it as a serious classroom resource. She read through the text. Twice. It was a joke. 

Dolores Umbridge was the worst professor to enter Hogwarts. Including the fraud, Lockart. And Quirrel whom had Voldemort living within his skull! 

Hermione set about a nice quiet space to do her own personal studies on the subject. Books from the library would provide adequate instruction. As long as she understood the spells in every educational way given, she would be more knowledgeable than the average fifth year in terms of defense. 

She asked Harry and Ronald to join, but they declined. 

Things were tense between the trio. The year before had been difficult for them all, but it impacted Harry the worst of all. He watched someone die. A traumatic thing all on it’s own, but it was not the height of the nightmares that he endured in that graveyard. Voldemort was given life once more. From the blood of Harry birthed his enemy to flesh.

Cedric’s slaying and Voldemort’s rise left him a panicked mess. Most days he retreated to his own place, whether it was literal or mental, and tolerated zero disturbances, even from his best friends.

Hermione chewed her lip. Some days she questioned his coping. There were times when his eyes burned with such fury that she thought he’d embraced a much darker view of the world than they all believed in. That perhaps Voldemort had won over Harry just by the exposed evil possible in a world already so cruel. 

She’d hoped that a return to Hogwarts would help. If anything, it was worse.

Gryffindor Tower was a edgy place. The question of Dumbledore and Harry tore apart the place in a battleground of belief and fear, fear over what awaited the world with the news of Voldemort’s return and the true separation of magic.

It was all too much for her. She needed some bit of semblance. Thus, old defense books filled with _actual_, useful information.

An abandoned part of the castle provided a shortcut to the grounds. It was left unbothered. Nothing resided in the part of the castle, parts were in utter ruin, too. Students opted to walk around in more pretty background. Hermione did not mind. 

Torch sconces lit her way. Her steps echoed throughout the stone corridor. Portraits lined the walls of that part of castle. They greeted her with soft voices as she walked.

The afternoon light was blocked by the other part of the castle. Light only extended to the sconce ahead. It casted eerie shadows. They started to play tricks on her mind like another set of echoing steps as she walked through.

Darkness was a muggle fear. She worried about boogeymen in shadows ready to kidnap or rape her in Muggle streets. It was irrational. The fears instilled in her mind from childhood were hard to lose.

Still, she felt goosepimples race up the backs of her arms and down her spine. Sounds and light melted together. They became one as they toyed with her. She gasped when she brushed against a cold stone wall. 

Her heart pounded in its bone cage as she pressed forward, deeper into the bowels of ruined sections of the castle perfect for hiding fugitives and invaders. The torches stopped. Her path drenched in pitch black as she stared on the edge of the abyss. 

Then she heard it. There was a definite sound from another. 

Hermione turned on toe. “Who’s there?”

It fell still.

Creeping coldness ascended her spine as she waited to be cursed in the dark, or her own mind to splinter to madness from tricks of light.

She swallowed the lump of fear. “I know someone’s there. Show yourself or I’ll -.”

“You’ll what, Granger?”

A pale face full of brilliant platinum hair emerged through shadow. Draco Malfoy. He bled to light as he swaggered close, closer than she could believe. How did he move so quietly through shadow? He wore a set of well-fitted school robes, an emerald green striped tie the centerpiece to the entire ensemble. A brilliant ‘P’ reflected from his school patch.

He was not a friend. They were known enemies. 

Harry and Ronald liked to duel him. They were baited easily into a duel, all of them.

Hermione, on the other hand, was not welcome to address him since she was a mudblood, a station much below the heir of Malfoy house. He made a point of saying so. Often.

She couldn’t help but wonder what forced his hand to seek her out. Nothing of consequence, she knew, but it was an interesting query.

The closer he drew, the more defined his outline became.

“What do you want Malfoy?” She spat.

The sardonic chuckle that answered did not calm her nerves.

Draco ran his tongue along his lower lip. “You.”

A chill ran down her spine. 

“What?” Breath caught in her throat. Where on Earth did that come from? “What are you talking about?”

“What about the word ‘you’ has you confused?”

Her eyes narrowed. “All of it.”

“Allow me to clarify.” An arm shot out and grabbed hold of her. She tried to retract but the hold was anchored onto her bicep with a taut squeeze. Had he been that close before? “I want to own you, Granger. I want that pretty, little ass of yours to have my name on it and every little whim I have to be fulfilled. Every little one.”

Her eyes bulged. 

Of all the horrid things Draco Malfoy had implied or flat out declared over the years, that was the worst. She was no harlot. There were witches aplenty willing to crawl into his bunk with the idea of sexual favors being exchanged. Hermione was not one of them. 

Teenagers were filled with hormones that made momentary pleasure supersede all other instincts, and it was a truth that Hermione recognized as a universal law. If she withstood the power that her body exerted, she was in true control of herself. 

There was no feeling better than self-control.

Outright shock fell straight to her knees. He did not draw his wand. The point was to talk. Which meant that what he said was the point, confusing her even more. Draco Malfoy played games, but ones that kept his reputation intact, not just for the sake of toying with her. It was the first touch they ever had, one that he initiated, morphed her confusion and shock into some blend of both emotions.

“You’re mental if you think I’d agree to that.”

He sneered. “I am not interested in your choice. I’ve come to tell you this is what is going to happen. You will be mine and only mine. You’ll be available for me whenever I ask it and do whatever it is that I ask. There will be no more late-night letters sent to wizards without my perusal first.”

Her jaw fell open. How did he learn of that?

“Don’t look like that. It hardly took a genius to figure it out.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Furthest from it. Crabbe and Goyle were the ones who did.”

Hermione took, jaw still open, a look to the two giant oafs along the other side of the corridor. The taller, Goyle, had a toffee apple. He ate at it slowly. Eyes full of hatred. She felt their bitter burn. Lucky his interest in his treat turned more important than her or she might have sent a hex his way to turn his eyes into more appealing things like pumpkins.

Lower down on the wall was the lump of a wizard, Crabbe. He was perfectly round with his head on top. Like a potato. He was often the lesser awful than the three. As she stared down at them, he gave a gentle wave. 

“You followed me?” She asked.

They bobbed their heads.

“They’ll be along with you from now on,” Draco said. “To ensure my terms are upheld, of course.”

Finally his words sank in. He was serious. 

There was no play of amusement in his features. A solid slate of pale flesh stretched across the sharpest jaw line, perfect upright nose, and a pair of the most emotional gray eyes. There was coolness in their touch. It stung sharp when he was angry. Now the chilly gaze relived the hot spaces of sweat below her collar from the warm Scottish sun. 

He brought himself up to her chest. One hand held her tight, unable to pull away no matter how hard she yanked. Two more wands in the hands of his followers gave little comfort. There was no fight. She was outmanned. 

Sure, she could yell. No one would hear. That’s why he picked that time to approach her, when he knew there was no possible way to lose. 

“You will obey me.”

Hermione turned bright red with fury. “I will never.”

“You will.”

“I won’t!” She stomped. “You cannot make me.”

“Sure, I can.”

“I’ll curse you if you try,” she declared. “I’ll tell Harry. I’ll tell Ron.”

Draco snickered. His hot breath hit her face. “I’m not afraid of Potter or Weaslebee. Let them come for you. Earn themselves an expulsion. Easy work for me, isn’t it? That’ll leave me the rest of the year to break you in at my leisure.”

Umbridge made things a struggle. There was not much wiggle room for Gryffindors with that woman around the castle. Harry was blackmarked by the Ministry. Everyone thought he lied about the Dark Lord’s return. The Prophet smeared his name at every turn, with encouragement from the Ministry no doubt, Umbridge a figure head for such smearing.

Poor Harry had no room for error. He had to stay on the straight and narrow if he wanted to continue his education at Hogwarts. 

She gritted her teeth. “I will fight you every step.”

“Brilliant. Care to start right now?”

Draco waited for no answer. He dragged her down the long corridor. Just before they reached a more populated area of the castle, he leaned down and whispered, “Not a word to anyone, okay, mudblood?”

For the moment, there was no way to break away from him. Harry was at risk. He mattered more than a little humiliating discomfort at the hands of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione nodded. Words failed her. She could not believe it was happening to her. Nightmares that plagued her at night were no where close to this. Plans for every circumstance glazed over the possibility that Malfoy might try to blackmail her into forced association for fun. He ignored her most of the time!

What changed?

He lead on, albeit not too far ahead that he couldn’t grab her at a moment’s notice, toward a collection of benches in the courtyard where Slytherins gathered during free period. Panic jumped at the back of Hermione’s throat. She couldn’t face them all. Most of them hexed her. More than once.

Draco approached with his back straight, arrogant as always. His nose perched high in the air. A single hand ran back through his slicked hair down to the base of his neck. 

Pansy greeted him with a question of where he’d been, she missed him, nonsense. As if anyone missed a foul person like Malfoy. 

Crabbe and Goyle surpassed her. She clutched her books close to her chest as they passed. Experience told her to recoil near them. All. 

They all mingled together. Pansy Parkinson sat crossed legged in front of a pretty witch named Daphne. Her fingers split through Pansy’s raven colored locks in neat rows, braided into two long fishtails. The skinny, awkward wizard named Theo Nott stared absently off into the distance. No one seemed to disturb him. 

The two followers swiftly sat on an open bench. One pulled out a bag of exploding rocks from their robe pockets and threw them at their feet. Little bits of rock and black gunpowder spit up. They were entertained by it. Hermione half-expected her captor to join in. Draco, however, separated from their company. He sat next to Daphne on the other concrete bench, Pansy at his feet. Both witches glanced his way momentarily. 

Somehow, they hadn’t spied Hermione on the cusp of their presence. Books against her chest as a makeshift shield from what could come from their wands, she awaited the chance to leave. She watched Draco closely. His attention strayed to his friends. It lingered. An entire minute without his glare was a green light.

She inched backward, careful not to register within their peripherals, when the dreaded gray eyes met hers.

The wool of her sweater became heavy as she was beckoned closer into the den by two fingers of Draco’s hand. She stepped forward once. Then twice. 

He tired of her hesitation.

“Come here, mudblood.” He snapped his fingers together as if she were a pet easily led with promised treats. One finger on his hand pointed to the concrete near his feet. “Sit here.”

Pansy spun around so quick, her neck near snapped at the rotation. “Whaaaat?” screeched its way from her expansive mouth like the call of a hawk.

She paused. A hex from Pansy wouldn’t be an unfounded fear. Pansy was a female version of Malfoy. The pair fed into awful habits of the company they kept. Gossip and violence were her cup of tea.

“What’s she doing here?” The witch spat. “No wands to wax, Granger?”

Draco snarled. “She’s here because I want her here.”

He snapped his fingers once more. Hermione quickly seated herself on the concrete at his feet, careful not to touch his trousers but close enough that she would be closest to him than anybody. She did not know any of the other Slytherins. They all disliked her placement within their group, but none rose to question Malfoy either.

Perhaps there was safety amongst them at Draco’s side. 

She dusted off the edges of her dark skirt. Dust of the ground smudged against the fabric and clung like a magnet. It gave her a place for her eyes. Better than the glares.

“Her presence insults us,” Pansy snipped. “All of us. Mudbloods don’t belong here. She should be in a cage in that dumb oaf’s cottage than a castle. Is that where you plan to put her, Draco? A filthy thing like that should be washed in the lake first. Come boys, let’s get her nice and clean before we roll her down that hill.”

The pounding in her chest throttled her ribs. Each beat felt the very force meant to shatter bone shards all throughout the tender tissue of her lungs, eventually piercing through something important enough to kill her.

Oh, if only the world was merciful.

Hermione fought the urge to storm off. Harry at the center of her mind, she calmed the rage in her fingers demanding that she pull her wand and stayed put. There was a way to get out of this arrangement with Draco; she just hadn’t thought of it yet. 

She counted the rows of rock embedded in the concrete to pass the time. Her input was not required, just her physical presence.

“What good are mudbloods if they can’t be used?” Draco chuckled.

It helped ease the discomfort that Pansy Parkinson exuded. Partly.

“Just how do you plan to use her, Draco?” She asked. “What use does a wizard like you have for a thing like her?”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” He nudged her with his foot, toppling her over onto the hard ground. “Mudblood. I’m thirsty. Get me some water.”

Hermione walked her hands back against their burning scrapes until she sat again. Open wounds rested at the base of both her palms. She glared back at Draco.

He raised an eyebrow. It toyed with her sense of self-control. She gained it back with a deep inhaling breath.

“Well?” He crossed his arms.

“I don’t have water,” she answered. Truthfully.

That was not an answered that registered. He repeated himself,” Get. Me. Water. Mudblood.”

She shook her head. “There is none.”

“Water. Now.”

All eyes of the other students blistered her skin. They watched on in devilish satisfaction as Hermione sacrificed one of her library books to transfigure it into a goblet fitted with a golden handle and rim. Water poured from the tip of her wand into the glass.

She held the goblet on an outstretched palm until he took it with a smirk.

“See? It listens to commands.”

With an ugly scowl, Pansy glared at the ill-suited witch next to her as if she were infected with the plague and she, Pansy, was a high-born too important to be risked such disease. “Well I hate _it_.”

After that the witch slithered up from the ground onto Draco’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pulled his face away violently. Any other witch would realize the overstep. Not Pansy. She continued to help herself to Draco’s lap.

A bit of something, Hermione wasn’t sure what exactly it was, boiled its way out of her depths. Was she not the one subjected to him, unwillingly? He should have the decency to entertain one witch at a time. 

She crossed her arms and refused to watch the spectacle that Pansy loved to incite. The number of roofing tiles of Hogwarts was far more interesting. 

1…2…3…

“Really, Draco. What’s your plan for the little beast?” Black eyelashes fluttered like a butterfly’s wings. “You can’t really keep her. None of us want her around. Ugly thing makes me sick to my stomach.”

Four nails dig deep into Hermione’s palms.

4…5…6…

Draco grabbed hold of Pansy’s waist and dragged her off with one swift motion. “I’ll do what I wish. If you don’t like it, you can kick rocks for all I care. That goes for the lot of you.”

No matter how she hated Malfoy for his forced company, a tiny, ever so slight sliver of satisfaction that inflated the smallest possible respect it could. He was a menace. Nothing to attach herself to. She promptly reminded that part of all the vile things he’d done, this circumstance being one of the lesser offenses yet none the less an insult to own a person because of their heritage.

This game he wanted meant nothing. He wanted her pain. He wanted to hurt her friends.

“We didn’t say anything,” Daphne said.

A section of black hair flipped into his face. His eyes near turned bright red. 

Draco snatched Pansy’s wrist mid-air. “Next time, you’ll just remember who you address.”

She returned to her seat with a pouty look, that was, until she noticed the glances from the others. It turned to a harsh glare. They all looked back at their own activities in the awkward silence that fell.

Hermione looked up at Draco with hesitation. He seemed more than ready to duel. Not that she was afraid, but if she fought him, Harry was bound to find out.

More than anything, she wanted to keep Harry in Hogwarts. He had enough to deal with. The little protection there was to be had was within school grounds. He needed it.

So, she remained in compliance. She focused on her studies. The crisp old pages crinkled in hand as she turned chapter after chapter, defensive spell after shield charm. At one point Draco tapped her shoulder and grabbed the book from her grip. It was a fight of which was stronger. 

He won.

Hermione crossed her arms in frustration as he fingered through the pages. Once he lifted an eyebrow as if he was interested.

Eventually he handed back the book and allowed her to continue.

Sometime later, two other Slytherin students joined their housemates in the courtyard. They were older. Both wizards. She recognized one from the Quidditch team as Terrence Higgs. He was lean with the blackest black hair knotted at the crown of his head. A faint line of a simple black necklace laid below his shirt. The other wizard was called Vaisey, though she wasn’t sure if it was last name or first. He was average. Nothing stood out about the man.

Hermione sat in her dedicated spot at Draco’s leg in silence until attention fell to her once more.

“Got a friend, have you, Malfoy? Didn’t know you had many of those.” It was Terrence Higgs who said it. 

Blood nearly dribbled from her tongue; she had to bite it so hard to keep from laughing. The older wizard was not impressed by Draco Malfoy. He acted as if he was an annoyance rather than an equal.

Draco scoffed. “I’ve gotten myself a mudblood, Higgs. It takes more skill than a remedial reader like yourself can offer, though I hear the Hufflepuffs are looking for a stuffed bear to snuggle. You’d make the perfect fit, what with that beard and all. Sure you’re not a werewolf? Some kind of beast.”

Wow. The edge of Malfoy’s tongue was sharp indeed.

Higgs ignored Malfoy, the heart of a true saint. It was not easy. Malfoy had a way of picking at wounds already formed in one’s heart, so they bled a better show for him.

Terrence lowered his palms to his bent knees. He was so close. She smelled the wash of fresh springs cloud her mind. 

She was dazzled by a pair of vibrant green eyes. Layers upon layers of sparkling grassy green richer than Buckingham Palace’s lawn. And where she expected disdain inside them, there was a softness that fluttered her heart.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than sit here with him?” He asked with a polite smile. “For example, jumping from the Astronomy Tower.”

Hermione smiled. “Well I -.” 

“Mudblood.” 

A hand thudded against her shoulder. Each of his five fingernails dug into her flesh enough to bring tears to her eyes. She fluttered them back quickly. Malfoy glared at her with his lips firmly pressed together.

Whatever she’d done to deserve it, she didn’t know. Still, she didn’t speak.

“As much fun as this is, you should shove off. We’re busy breaking her in,” Draco said. The literal tension in his voice could cut flesh.

Terrence straightened. He was so tall. 

Hermione recalled only a select few times that she saw him in Hogwarts. The green of his collar dismissed her attention toward the wizard with tensions being what they were between the houses, but the encounter changed her opinion of him. He seemed not so bad. For one, he addressed her like a person. There was no use of that nickname that the other Slytherins preferred to use rather than her name. 

All the years of Malfoy’s use of the word numbed her to it. She hadn’t felt its sting since third year. Still, it embarrassed her that he used it so often in her presence. 

Terrence remained unmoved by Draco’s insults. He looked over to his friend.

“Let’s leave Malfoy to his games, Vais. Not time for him to be with the grownups yet, is it?” The two older Slytherins snickered. “Least he could do is act like a Black. They weren’t childish brats.”

They walked off toward the Quidditch pitch. She swore Terrence glanced over his shoulder at her once, but she couldn’t be sure; Malfoy glared.

Theo suddenly came to. The blank stare cleared his face as thought came back to his mind.

“Granger?” He looked around at his friends with surprise.

Daphne wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. Wake up, Theo.”

He rubbed his palm against his forehead. “What you here for?”

“She’s Draco pet, or something.” Pansy scowled. Crooked bodies of teeth showed to the light.

Hermione cringed. She grew up with two parents as dentists. Dental hygiene and elective dental surgery were popular within the Muggle world to correct such problems like crookedness and discoloration from too much tea. If it wasn’t such an insult to a pureblood witch to offer, she would slip Pansy a business card.

Not that it would be well received. They’d probably hex her. Draco had done so with a tooth enlarging hex that swelled her teeth twice their size before. It was embarrassing. Her already buck teeth grew into beaver chompers.

“That’s right. She’s _my_ pet.” Draco made a point to illustrate the point, yet again, that she was only his to bully, though plenty of them got the chance to go unpunished when they said something horrible. 

She’d always viewed Malfoy as a child. A petty, pathetic child with no limits as to how far he was allowed to behave toward others and was in turn created into a monster with a love to bully others just because it was all he knew. Harry and Ron thought different. They believed him evil. 

Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. A notably cruel one, too. But Draco? 

Lucius always made a point to physically correct his son, in public, in front of others. Draco looked like a wounded puppy when that happened. She thought it sad. The image that Malfoy portrayed himself was a mere mask of somebody he was expected to be, not that he actually was. 

There was no doubt that Lucius was a firm father. He had expectations for his only son and heir. He left rather large and relentless shoes to fill. Ones that Draco had to step into at his father’s death or removal from his post as Lord Malfoy. 

It was in every right that Lucius wanted his family to continue on in the tradition that it always had been, thus a strict expectation of what Draco was to be. 

She’d been lost in her thoughts when Dolores (she refused to think of her as a professor) Umbridge greeted those of her former Hogwarts house. There was a brilliant reception of pleasantries until her noticed an outside amongst them. 

“Miss Granger? What on Earth…Are you here bothering them?” She asked with that pointed tone. 

There was another awkward silence that descended when no one knew what to answer, or who. It was Draco’s doing. He was the reason she was there. But, it was Umbridge. No one liked to go against her for anything. 

And, they were Slytherins; watching a Gryffindor roll in mortification was what they liked best.

“Well?” Umbridge tapped her foot against grass. The pink heel broke all the blades below.

Draco finally broke the quiet. “No, professor. Miss Granger is a pet of mine.”

“A pet?” She was baffled by the declaration. As would anyone. A pet is an animal, not a person.

“Granger is here because I asked her. I can assure you, she keeps in line.” He flashed that Malfoy brand smile that melted the old witch’s heart. 

“A bit unorthodox, Mister Malfoy, but splendid work. I find that half breeds are a difficult task to break,” she said it with such pride that Hermione nearly snapped a curse designed to remove that tone forever. “Excellent job. Miss Granger, you are a lucky witch to have a wizard such as Mister Malfoy to educate you. Not so many are granted such favor.”

Favor? 

It was not a favor to be his slave! She was forced with no other choice but to comply on the threat that her best friend would be expelled from school. That was no choice. It was the exact situation that Malfoy planned it to be. 

A curse from him that landed her in the hospital wing for a month would be better than the agreement to be his little plaything.

Through the rising vomit and fury that she felt at the back of her throat, she swallowed it back down with a disgustingly sweet smile. Lucky, it seemed to please Draco. He was most engaged in her reaction. Genuine delight spread through his face.

“Thank you, professor.” He gripped Hermione’s shoulder tightly and pulled her to her feet. “We’ve got a previous engagement. Will you excuse us?”

They made their way out of the courtyard into an isolated stretch of land just beyond the castle, near the shores of the Black Lake. It was a warm day. Sunlight reflected the indigo hue of the waters as gentle waves beat the bank. 

A pair of Hufflepuffs walked past. It was Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones. They were the same year as Draco and Hermione and knew very well that the two were not friends. Neither stopped. Their gawking made it clear that they were beyond shocked.

Hermione listened to the rushed footsteps as Hannah and Susan passed. 

It would only be a matter of time before Harry and Ron came for her. Hannah was bound to mention it. 

“Nice job. Mudblood.” His hands clasped behind his back as he walked. “You’re doing better than I thought. Must have a bit of pet in you.”

Hermione glared. “Don’t bet on it.”

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? We haven’t got long. The Huffles will have reached your friends by now.” Hermione stopped short. He knew. “Don’t insult me with that look. I’m fairly aware of your friends in the castle.”

That was, confusing.

She narrowed her eyes. “How?”

“Know thy enemy, Granger.”

“You consider me your enemy. Interesting. I don’t really consider you at all.”

He growled. “Don’t you?”

“No. Not even after this I won’t.”

She marched on without him, not caring what he did with himself, until a hold pulled her back by the arm. Sharply.

“Oh, but you mistake me, Granger. I’ve not asked your permission for all this. It is not a request.” His face was a mere centimeter from hers. “You will be my pet. No other will have you. You’ll be there for my every whim and obey only me. I’ll see to it. There will be no part of you that will not involve me. Your time, your life is mine.”

It was a threat. Something turned her blood cold. 

Still her Gryffindor courage roared up over the fear that surged. “I’m only doing this so that you don’t duel Harry to get him expelled.”

“So, you’ll agree to my terms?” 

Agree was not the right word. There was no choice. She had no options. Any other that left Harry a student of Hogwarts would be better than the current one, but since it didn’t present itself, she was stuck.

“As much as I can,” she answered.

The hold on her arm lessened. He settled her back down to the ground, brushing the wrinkles off her robes.

She sighed. He snickered. 

Caution stalled her breath. “Apparently so.”

Out of the corner of her eye, a flicker of red entered view. She gasped. It was Ron. He wore a plain yellow t shirt and a pair of slacks. The stain on his belly spoke for his location when Hannah found him. He raced toward them quickly.

“What? What did I miss?” She snarled.

For once, Ron was swift. He’d be at their throats in a minute.

“I never said I wouldn’t duel him.” He grinned mischievously. “The excuse for them not to duel me is yours to give. I care not either way.”

It was clear he was pleased with himself. His face was smackable in the moment.

Footsteps entered her hearing. Ron was faster than she thought.

“Then I’ll just have someone else duel you. Dean and Seamus would be happy to help.”

His face darkened. Storm clouds gathered in the gray smoke of his eyes.

“You best have them with you always, Granger. I’ll come for you. Always.”

“Malfoy!” Ron drew his wand. “What are you playing at?”

Draco slipped his hands into his pockets.

Now came the time for her to decide. It was either Harry’s expulsion or put up with Malfoy’s controlling asinine behavior. It was meant to be a more difficult decision, but it was more obvious than anything.


	3. Chapter 3

# CHAPTER 3

#### Reflections

There Hermione stood between Ronald and Draco Malfoy, a decision to make. 

She glanced back at Malfoy with question. Could she really stand him enough for Harry? One fight with Malfoy would leave Harry at the possibility with expulsion with Umbridge on staff. It would be the last thing he needed. Voldemort was back. The world depended upon Harry Potter.

Hermione sighed. “Come, Ronald.”

They walked away. It made Ron jumpy. Every few minutes he glanced back over his shoulder in anticipation for a hex from the end of Malfoy’s dark Hawthorn wand. 

“Are you alright?” He asked. “What are you doin’ with Malfoy? You know the prat hasn’t got an honest bone in him.”

“I’m fine, Ron. Honestly. It was nothing. He just likes to fight with you and Harry, you know. How many times have I told you that he just wants to get you in trouble?” She grumbled. “He’s normal enough without you two around.” 

It was the best she could manage. Under the circumstances. 

There was a thought that kept her mind preoccupied. How had he known who her friends were? If they weren’t complete bullies, she would have no idea who he associated with. She ignored him. 

Unlike some. Girls in the castle acted as if they disliked him but got excited when he paid a bit of attention to them. She imagined him a tramp. With how many girls crushed on the wizard, he could have most the castle under his belt. 

Strike that. He did.

What other explanation could there be for the kid glove treatment he got when he incited duels? Harry was the Chosen One. He was a good student, a little misguided which was not her fault since he never listened to her any way, but he was not nasty. Draco was awful. Detention often fell on Harry’s lap, not Draco’s. 

“Just forget it.” She didn’t have the time to expand on her lie yet. That required a bit more time. “You should be with Harry.”

“I don’t know, Mione. He doesn’t seem like he wants company.”

“He doesn’t. But he needs it,” she said. “Stay close. He’ll need you to watch out for him.”

Ron snorted. “Come on. You’ve got to be joking. This is Harry Potter we’re talking about. He knows how to take care of himself.”

“Don’t tell me he seems fine to you.” She groaned in irritation. “You saw him over holiday. He’s suffering. Cedric’s death. Voldemort back. Dumbledore. He’s got all that on his mind. And I can’t be with him all year. You have to. ”

They agreed that Ronald should be the one to focus on Harry. Their entire dorm, except Neville, didn’t believe him. _The Prophet_ did well in discrediting any thing he said. Tensions were higher because Seamus’ parents didn’t want him to return to Hogwarts and he blamed Harry for it. 

Times were chaos. 

Umbridge’s presence in Hogwarts said enough. The government wished to cover up the horror that sat on the horizon like a sweeping cloud with the promises of continual sunshine. Fudge, the Minister for magic, was scared. The sweeping cloud of dark magic was difficult to rid the world of. Last time it came, it almost never left.

Classes started the next week which helped keep Hermione’s attention distracted. Until came Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Umbridge did not like her. There were many times she tried to confuse Hermione in class (unsuccessfully). Finally, she just started to straight up ignore her raised hands or explanations.

That class caught Draco’s attention, too. He forbade her from challenging the professor.

It was later that day when she laid on the shore of the Black Lake, studying her notes, when Draco helped himself to her company. She got used to Crabbe and Goyle being her shadow. They went every where she went at a distance far enough she could pretend ignorance to their attention. Draco came and went to his own schedule.

Apparently, it was after Quidditch practice. He trudged up the rocky shore in his Slytherin uniform with leather shin guards, wrist braces, finger-less gloves, and shoulder pads beneath his cloak. The broom was abandoned somewhere else near the Pitch. 

He looked cross. Sun glinted off the water in magnified rays. He scowled and cast a charm above them. 

Shade fell over her things. It was a tad too dark to read. She sighed and placed the things aside since he was bound to require all her attention in that typical Malfoy fashion.

“Help me, pet.” He gestured toward his gear. 

Quidditch made a player sore. More than once, she helped Harry remove his. A gentle hand eased the weight off their tired muscles gently rather overstretching already tired muscles and pulling them farther from the bone. 

She carried the gear to the grass and arranged it nicely. It made him more pleasant to be around when forced if she hid her frustration. In the long run it’d be a smart decision. She brushed the grass off her hands and looked up. Crabbe and Goyle had disappeared from their spot under a tree. Strange. 

When she turned back around, there was a missing green and gray jersey missing from Malfoy’s chest. A flat, shapely torso lingered in the bare air. Naked. His beautiful porcelain skin shimmered with sweat. There was a red mark just between a pair of ribs. The end of a broomstick it looked like. 

Hermione had never seen so much of Draco’s body before. Or, any wizards for that matter. It took her breath away.

“Your shirts off,” she blurted.

He sneered. “Better observation, why isn’t yours off?”

Her hands to her chest in surprise. “Why I’d – what on – that’s ridiculous. I’ll stay fully clothed. Thank you.”

“It would be better if you are not when I throw you in,” he stated with a shrug. “That sweater will shrink. I’d hate for your secret to be out. You’re a witch and not a shapeless blob.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Course, pet. Now come here. We’re going for a swim.” 

There was a whole roll of parchment she wanted to review before it was due. A book was due in the library tomorrow. She wanted one read through. 

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t. I’ve got work to do.”

“I’ve got the same as you, Granger.” He walked up and grabbed her wrist. She dug her feet into the ground, but chipped rock was not steady against her weight. Two ditches cut through the surface as Draco dragged her to the water. “I was nice enough to ask. Now, you’ve got no choice. In you go.”

Draco was surprisingly strong. He lifted her against her flailing arms and kicking legs and walked into the chilly water. She gasped. The water reached the tender flesh under her knees that caused her to involuntarily kick out her legs straight. She bit her tongue. He would not get satisfaction from her exclamations.

It became harder and harder to do as the water climbed higher against their bodies. She clung to Draco’s chest. The water was so cold it hurt. Her teeth clattered together.

When the water reached her erect nipples, she finally let her tongue go.

“Holy fuck! It’s freezing.”

A venom-less sneer crossed his lips. “Didn’t know you knew such foul language, Granger. What would McGonagall say?” He mocked a gasp.

It was not funny. She splashed him in warning. The water was high enough for her to float away from his person. She swallowed a silent thank you. It was impossible to concentrate when her mortal enemy was pushed against her frame in a more familiar way than the extent of their association.

“I’m a teenager, same as you.” She glanced back at the castle. It’d grown smaller in the distance. The forbidding presence was less so out so far. “Just because I don’t spend my days shagging through the houses doesn’t mean I’m not bound to the same proclivities as you.”

That was the very moment she realized just how wrong it sounded. 

A rushing blush consumed her face as Draco half-smirked with obvious enjoyment of her idiocy.

“Gryffindor princess, a usual student. Who would’ve guessed? Not Dumbledore.” It was difficult to read through the mask of Draco Malfoy. There were points where the edges fell away, but the majority of him was covered entirely. All she knew was his tone. It was full of spite. “Man won’t rest til there is a statue of you in the quad. ‘Best student of the century’ it’ll say, knowing the ridiculous man.”

“And Umbridge will frame your portrait as the best pureblood there is,” Granger sneered. “Quite the pair, we are.”

“We are not the same, Granger. We’ll never be.”

She nodded. “Then why are you doing this? If you want to hurt me, just do it and leave me alone.”

“You ought to be grateful to me,” he said.

That had to be one of the down right, most hilarious things he’d ever said.

“Grateful?” She choked. “For what? You’ve kidnapped me. Blackmailed me. Humiliated me in front of your friends. Tell me I can’t write my friends. Have my entire house distrusting me. Not a single them will talk to me, now.”

He was silent. It was not like he cared for what he’d done. Lucky her two best friends didn’t hate her, or she’d just fight Draco herself.

She harshly chuckled again. “Oh! But there is the upside of having your two followers stalk me around and threaten to beat up any wizard who gets to close. It’s like I have a master or something.”

“You do,” he said flatly. His eyes turned upward as he examined the sky. “Funny, you lot. Gryffindors. All dedicated and loyal. Until you get a friend in Slytherin. Then it’s excommunication from the pride.”

Waves of the lake splashed against her neck as she tread the deep black water. They were far from the shore now. Goosebumps puckered her purple flesh. She was numb already. Summer never reached the depths of the Black Lake. It stayed frigid all year long.

“It’s not just a Slytherin,” she snipped. “It’s because it is you. If you were Terrence Higgs for example - .”

“Higgs?”

His eyes grew two sizes. She didn’t see him swim. One moment he was a fair space away then another, he wasn’t. 

Draco’s eyes coursed, the whites brighter than a full moon. Void of all sensation beyond exhaustion from treading water on an endless loop, Hermione felt the stinging chill down in her bones. It felt strange to be his focal point. An obsession. Scary, but thrilling.

A shiver of excitement stroked her spine. The base of the bones tingled.

“I said no wizards.” Draco growled. He gritted his teeth to bite back the anger. “No other wizard can touch you. Especially Higgs. You stay away from him.”

The bodily response had nothing to do with her emotions of the issue. She hated it. She wanted him to leave her alone. There were better things both could do with their time.

“No one in their right minds is going to steal me away to become their pet, Malfoy. It is not a normal thing to do. Illegal in some places, you know. Most in fact.”

“No. Wizards.” His face was centimeters from hers, moving closer with each pulse of the water. “Those were the terms you agreed to, Granger. I do not share.”

For a split second, there was a change in his eyes. She saw through the mask into the deeper parts of him that were haunted and more treacherous than simple blackmail. Her pulse quickened. So did her breath. 

The warmth of his breath touched her nose. They were so close now.

She nodded under the demand of his eyes. “No wizards, Malfoy. No other wizards.”

A darkness crept in on dense clouds. The playful summer breeze turned violent. Strands pulled from her hair tie and danced around the edges of her face in their curly Q nature until they were tucked behind her ears. Soon enough it wasn’t just the water that was cold. The air became so chilly that the water almost felt warm as her skin blistered against in long cold drags of the wind. 

There was not a person outside the walls of the castle. Brilliant stretched lawns of Hogwarts were empty. It was far enough that no one would spy them from castle windows. The fallen dark of the pending storm protected them, too, but with pregnant bellied clouds overhead in dramatic revelation.

Thunderstorms in the Gryffindor dormitories were frightening. Every quake of thunder shook the walls of stone. She pictured the flooring falling out below her feet and a nice plunge onto the ground after each one. 

Hermione started to panic. A body of water in a thunderstorm asked for trouble. Trouble of an electrocuted variety.

The sky looked ready to threaten violence should they linger any longer. White topped waves started to levitate them higher and higher in the water. They’d have drifted apart if not for Draco’s hold. She curled her fingers backward to hold onto his wrist, too. 

A cruel joke of sending her out to Mervillage was not below him.

“We should go,” she shouted through the forceful wind. It whittled her voice to a hollow sound.

The intensity of Draco did not change, nor did his attention turn to the storm around them. 

“You are my pet.” 

Anger. She knew how to read that emotion well from him. It was Malfoy’s anger.

“I know,” she roared over the thundering above their heads. “Only yours to bully. I bloody get it.”

“No that’s not what I –.” 

A strong pull ripped her under. Air forced out. The watery depths pushed against her body in every direction, swirled so hard almost able to give whiplash. She clawed at the water. Air became limited. Her feet kicked hard as she could, but the water had ideas of pulling her away further. Or closer.

Hermione was all turned around. Up. Down. She didn’t know where to go. 

Fear licked its way up her spine like fierce flames. Dark water surrounded her. It closed in to personally suffocate her of every sensation as death circled. So did the pain. Her throat was on fire from the urge to scream out all the ache that came with drowning.

Another push of the wave pushed her deeper. She crashed up against something solid. The last bits of air bubbled out her throat. The boulder bullied her a few moments longer, bruising the soft tender spots of her torso as waves of water coursed by. 

It was the last bit of energy she had to not inhale deeply when a column of white water appeared above her. Two hands reached out, grabbed hold of her elbows and pulled her up through the film of tickle bubbles to break an icy surface.

She screamed when air finally filled her lungs.

The hands didn’t relent. They kept her above water as she trembled from pain. Despite the lovely flow of air through her nostrils, no relief came to her chest. Each breath was rawer than the last. 

Crispy grass stabbed her back as she was thrown against the ground. A shadow hovered above her.

Still, she struggled to breathe. A blur came to her eyes. They struggled to focus on anything: the grass, her hands, Draco. He was there. Although, where, she couldn’t say.

“Pulmonem repairo.”

Anyone who ever claimed fresh air was the best never had a first breath after nearly being suffocated from a collapsed lung. Oxygen felt heavenly. Her eyes rolled back as she breathed with greed.

The Black Lake was not a nice place for a swim.

“Malfoy. That was - .”

“You just can’t help but be that way, can you?” He snapped.

She recoiled back onto the grass. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You don’t matter. I could have left you at the bottom of that lake and no one would have cared.” Her eyes enlarged as he spoke. “Strike that. They would have hung a bloody medal round my neck for letting the world’s most annoying know-it-all become fish food.”

Had she bumped her head on the bottom of the lake or was Malfoy off his rocker?

“What did I do?” She gasped. “Why are you saying these things?”

Draco marched away, scrunched up expression on his face. He came back with an extended finger. “You, Hermione Granger, are nothing. You know that? You are nothing but my property. Property. Like an animal. And just like an animal, I can put you down at any time. Just remember that. I won’t hesitate to put you in your bloody place.”

Frustrated tears fell down her cheeks. “How dare you!”

That was not the way to go. It only encouraged his anger farther which made her want to push back even harder.

He squared himself up ready to fight. “How dare I?” He chuckled sardonically. “How dare I. Not much of a dare to threaten your best friends when neither care to even try and fight for you. What’s that say about you, Granger? Really. Just really think about it. Your beloved Saint Potter and the dimwit sidekick. Doubt either noticed your gone. But how can that be? You’re always there to remind them just how stupid they are. Perhaps they’re glad to be rid of you.”

Draco kicked up grass as he marched over to his things. In one hand, he grabbed his discarded clothes, the other held his gear.

He hadn’t waited for her response. There was none to say anyway. Her mind fell darkly numb. It hurt worse than her body beat up by the waves and the water and the cramps of her legs from all the swimming. Her knees wiggled together as she tried to move. 

It was cold. The wind burned her exposed flesh. She felt one of her ribs knock against something else as she breathed. 

It took ages to get herself back to Gryffindor Tower to clean up for when Harry finished with detention. He worked with Umbridge every night that week. Each night he wrote lines that scarred the back of his hand. She’d found a wrap, with Ron’s help, to help with the pain. A temporary fix. Not permanent.

If Harry wasn’t too stubborn to go to Dumbledore, it wouldn’t have to continue.

She picked the pieces of seaweed out of her hair as hot steam rose from the shower. It was cranked as far as the handle would go. Her bones needed heat.

The hollow coldness in her chest stayed longer than the chill. Dressed back in her black robes and fresh as the day, Draco’s words sat within her heart in the cleverly crafted knife he made himself fin the situation he created in the first place. Worst part was, he was right.

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, face in her hands. 

Harry was so different. After the night in the graveyard when Voldemort came back, he wasn’t himself. He was angry. Every little thing made him snap. Ron had no choice but to be there for him. Harry Potter was the only chance for the good side to defeat Voldemort. Whether anyone liked it or not, war would come. 

Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. It still descended.

Neither of her boys needed her to cause trouble. They had to prepare. Harry had to stay strong. Ron needed to keep Harry alive until the time came to use his strength.  
Where did that leave her? 

Depressed, alone in a dorm room, with Draco sodding Malfoy at the root of her pain, that’s where.

She didn’t know what to do. There was nothing to do. Draco Malfoy was a git, yes, but small in terms of the world. Voldemort was a true problem. He posed a great threat to all people. Not just her. Everyone should prepare for the rising tide that came from his threat to humanity.

The idea took a bit more time to form. It didn’t truly take shape until Harry returned that night after detention. She felt the words finally fall out of her mouth in a way her personal pride took a subtle hit from. 

Lessons to defeat Voldemort from Harry was the only way she’d learn how to fight off dark arts. Umbridge essentially ensured the school would be inept with a wand against anything tougher than a pixie.

But, if she was going to suffer with Malfoy so that Harry could focus on himself, then she might as well learn to protect herself. There would come a time when it’d be just her for herself, no one there to save her if she needed it. She needed to be aggressive with a wand. Dark arts were powerful. That took skill and practice. 

Harry had skill, due to unfortunate circumstances of his life that kept happening, and practice from aforementioned circumstances. He knew spells some grown wizards couldn’t conjure!

She obsessed about it for two weeks. The start of a student-led training program for those who wanted to truly learn defense against the dark arts. The preparations were done under the supervision of Crabbe and Goyle. They kept their distance, never too curious to uncover what she was doing. Still whenever she looked over her shoulder, they were always there, hands in their pockets or a biscuit in their hand.

Draco stayed away. 

That was delightful. All she had to do was ignore him in class, too, and it was like he never existed in the first place. It baffled her that the two followers kept their place as her shadow but as long as he never came back around, they could follow her forever. 

Except, she had secret meetings coming up. Secret things to be done. 

She couldn’t do that with them following her everywhere. That risked everything. The Order. Harry. Plans. 

The night before the weekend visit to Hogsmeade, Hermione was given a surprise. She was at her usual place at Gryffindor table. Harry retired early to be alone. She didn’t mind. Alone time sounded great. Ron conjured some excuse to leave after him, knowing full well that he was going to keep an eye on Harry just in case he did something impulsive and crazy.

Hermione felt entirely abandoned. 

The Gryffindor table was divided between those who believed Voldemort returned, and those who thought Harry was a nutter. She viciously defended Harry whenever she could. Now that Draco inserted himself as a tie to her, none of her classmates ventured close.

She sighed, dug at the small peas on her plate, ready to curl under her blankets, when the bench bumped the back of her calves. She turned, surprised, to see a friendly face.

“Ginny.” Hermione smiled.

“Evening, Mione,” the witch greeted. “What have you been up to? Not seen you much this year.”

“Studying and schoolwork. I’ve got so much. Not much time for anything else it seems. OWLs are this year. Got to keep up with it all.” She pushed her utensils aside with one last swallow of her tea. “How have you got on?”

“Fine. Ron’s the one you ought to be worried about. He never does his homework.”

There was a clear tension in her voice. It wasn’t voiced with words, but Hermione saw the downturned slope of her lips as Ginny Weasley fell quiet. A sadness glinted the edges of her eyes.

Hermione touched the witch’s arm. “What is it?”

Two blue eyes stared up at the ceiling with a swallow. 

“Has something happened, Gin? I can help. Is it Michael?”

Ginny chuckled and wiped below his eyes. “Godric, no. It’s actually…I’m worried about Harry. He’s got that look in his eye like he’s gone mad. Do you think he’s, well, that he’s, alright?”

That had been on her mind. Albeit not as much since the Malfoy mess. Plus her studies. 

Every morning both her best friends emerged with sunken eyes of restless slumber, physically assaulted by darkness. She was also. But there was importance in Harry’s suffering. It couldn’t break him. Ron either. They were the key to everything. The entire world. 

She swallowed back down her fear. Ginny needed comfort. Not fact. 

“Harry’s fine,” she answered with a bit too much hype in her voice. “He’s how he always is.”

“Everything is so different this year. Harry is whatever he is. I’m with Michael now. You’re friends with Malfoy.” Her eyes turned shifty. “Which is odd. What happened with you two? You told me you hated him. You all hate him, don’t you? Are – and I promise I will not tell Ron whatever the answer is – you dating?”

Dating? Her and Malfoy. 

The idea was so hilarious she burst into huge rolling laughter that attracted lots of attention. She didn’t stop. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Dating?” A splitting pain shot up her side.

“It’s that ridiculous? You’re telling me that you being friends with him is less ridiculous than dating him? The only thing that makes senses about it is if you were snogging.”

“Snogging is the last thing I’ll be doing with Draco Malfoy. Ever.”

Ginny leaned forward and whispered, “Does the Order have you on some secret mission to spy on Malfoy?”

Bullocks. That would have been a great excuse to give Ronald. It explained things much better than ‘being friends’, something that would never fly with any member of the Order. However, it convinced Ron and Harry to stay away. No chance of expulsion at every corner.

Ron hadn’t taken the news well. She had heard about it for nearly two days straight. Eventually Harry had captured his worry enough to let the Malfoy thing go. 

Things were different when Harry found out. He was much more suspicious. Every other statement was a question of her part to ensure she was truly herself. Quite insulting, it was. It took a great deal of convincing to stop him from confronting Malfoy that forced her to ‘admit’ that it was her own thinking of friendship rather than his to bury the hatchet between them. 

That was rough. 

She gritted and bared it for them both. Stubborn wizards.

“He’s not that bad, you know,” she said softly. “Boys will be boys. Fight over themselves. He isn’t so awful.”

“He calls you mudblood all the time, Mione.”

It did not get any easier to flat out lie to her friends. 

“That’s just an inside joke. You know. Because he’s a pureblood and I’m, not. It is all good fun. We tease one another, like you and Ron.”

“Oh.”

The hall was busy in the commotion of supper. There was the rowdy laughter of Seamus at one end of the table. His goblet clattered to the table with a ringing cling. It radiated in their ears. Gryffindor table turned on him, ears over their ears, with a consensus of disapproval. 

He sank back down in his seat.

“I’ll never forgive him for what he’s done to Harry, and Ron, and poor Neville. It is just cruel.”

Hermione nodded. “I understand.”

“But I don’t hate you for being friends with him. Don’t ask me to be nice to him. I respect your choice to willing associate with the wizard though,” Ginny promised. 

It was a kind enough offer. More than any other Gryffindor would be willing to extend. 

As the girls talked more, a few shadows emerged behind them in the Great Hall. They noticed the lumped pair with uncomfortable gazes. One glared down at Hermione with the look of daggers. The other gazed off to the plates that littered the table. 

A smile slacked off Ginny’s face as she noticed them. “What’s this now?”

Hermione shrugged. They never came that close when they followed her. For all she knew, they wanted to talk to her on their own accord, though she had doubts since muscles in Goyle’s face twitched so hard against his scowl.

“Draco wants to talk to you,” Crabbe said.

To beat her down, no doubt. Hermione flipped her hair over her shoulder and stared at the Slytherin table. There sat the prince of darkness himself. He wore his hair moussed to the side, exposing the short hairs on each side. The typical black suit hugged his features tightly. Broad shoulders, slender length like a cool drink of water on a summer day. 

Oh how she hated it.

There was an intoxicating allure that radiated from him in unguarded moments where just the faintest line exposed the flesh beneath his mask. He was lost in conversation with his housemates. Whatever it was, he spoke passionately. There was a glow within the pale hue of his eyes. 

For a moment she forgot what a prick he was.

“I don’t feel like talking,” she answered. “Tell him to try again some other time.”

Crabbe and Goyle shared a look. “Umm.”

She made no comment more. They left. Not permanently. 

Once again they were at her back with Draco’s request for her presence at his table, only they included a bit sterner warning.

“Draco wants to talk about dueling. Said you’d know what it was about.”

Her eyes grew twice as wide.

Gin straightened in her seat. “Dueling. What’s he talking about?”

“As Draco’s pet, you supposed to come the first time,” Goyle snarled. “He’s not going to be happy.”

“His _what_?” Ginny exclaimed.

“Pet,” Crabbe said, thinking she’d not heard, not that she was shocked by the news which any person would be.

Two wild eyes found hers. “That’s your friendship. His pet. You’re a pet to control.” Her two raised eyebrows did not lower until Hermione hanged her head. The weight of mounted mortification was shocking. “Now I understand it. He’s using you. For fun. To make fun of.”

First he hurt her with words, now with exposure. What more did he want? Her life? 

Hermione blinked back rising tears as she looked her friend in the eye, took her hand and said, “I have to go. He doesn’t like to wait.”

“Are you sure about this? It is…it’s bloody awful is what it is.”

“Trust me, Gin. Trust me.”

“Harry will…”

“Don’t.” Hermione shook her head. “No one will understand. You don’t either, I see that. But, please. Trust me.”

Eyes watched Hermione march over to the Slytherin table. She clasped her hands in front of her as she followed the two summoners back to Draco. It was for the best. The entire school saw her near the Slytherins so word would spread once and for all. 

She was his pet. That was her name now.

All the years in primary when she was desperate for a nickname from a dear friend left the irony of the situation more amusing than it should have. Leave it to fate to pick this time to arrange a nickname for her. Pet. It was far too cute and timid to suit her. 

Her tongue bitterly sat fixed behind the wall of stone lips that she mentally bricked herself. It was for her friends. She had to do it for her friends. The entire world mattered more than her comfort. She kept that at the forefront as she passed Slytherins of every caliber and association. They all turned. It reminded her of synchronized swimming. One observant face after another turned in some bare-faced disbelief as Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter, willingly entered a realm compromised of serpents set on her as their prey. 

The backs of Crabbe and Goyle’s heads parted to reveal the den: Pansy and Daphne, Theo, with Blaise on the other side on him. Two foul faced witches sat near. They paid her no attention. Goyle took his seat near the bulldog faced one with sad eyes.

Draco was at the center of them like a porcelain god. He was all easy smiles, tongue in his cheek like he’s just said something clever. 

It was no stretch of the imagination to understand why he was popular: good skin, handsome features, sharp blue eyes, ability to read others like a paperback. The wizard was charming. When he wanted to be, that was. 

His eyes roamed every inch of her as she was presented before him as an offering to their scaly king. 

“Ah, pet,” he finally said. “Sit down.”

She scanned the table. There was an empty seat five spaces down. As much as she longed to not be close to him (his voice brought back memories of what he’d said on the Black Lake), the space would not make him happy.

Hermione remained still.

Draco snapped at the seat beside him. “Here.”

A pin could have dropped in the Great Hall. Every house looked on at the spectacle of Hermione at the command of Draco Malfoy, a sworn enemy of The-Boy-Who-Lived. 

Things turned more tense as she was stopped on her path by none other than Terrence Higgs.

He smiled. “Still at this game, is he? Doesn’t he ever tire of it?”

She turned wobbly at the knees. One wink made her heart beat faster.

The attention of a handsome guy, wizard or muggle, brought that pathetic insecure girl back to the surface with a hope that was ill-suited for the smart, capable witch she’d become at Hogwarts. She was not a ditzy gossip like Lavender or Pavarti. Hermione was beyond silly affections.

Still, her body responded to Higgs in another way entirely. The air in her lungs bolted from her nose and refused return until she acknowledged her feelings. An unrepeatable voice reminded her of the way her knickers wet when the kind voice hit her ears like a direct spigot to desire for a wizard to notice her.

At one point, she’d wished for Ronald to do that to her. She cared for him. There were no words to describe the feelings she had for her dear friend, but it was nothing like the mature attraction she felt for an off-limits Slytherin. Mature in terms of what she’d allow done to her. 

Suddenly Draco was at her side with a biting tone. A fury wash of blue and gray battled within his eye. “Back. Off. Higgs.”

The entire school watched a wizard be driven away from Hermione like the plague. It was against rules to pull of wand on another student, which Draco knew, but he might as well have pushed the wood to his throat. There was such a venom in his tone. 

“Don’t come near her again,” Draco declared, sure enough to make his words echo through the Great Hall. 

She followed him to their seats, eyes fixed to the floor, happy to just sit down and cease all the tension between the table. Whispers spread through the ranks. They all wanted to know why Draco was with Hermione Granger. It hadn’t crossed their minds that the vile bully of the school grounds was involved with a muggleborn he was known to torment relentlessly. 

An important notion, the two of them in anything but a feud.

Draco Malfoy adjusted his school robes as he sat. “It is a Hogsmeade weekend.”

It was that voice that repeated in the darkness of the night as she laid down for sleep. 

I won’t hesitate to put you in your place. A growl grumbled at the back of her throat. He wanted to ruin every aspect of herself, but there was one thing she would hold onto with all her might. Her unwillingness.

Hermione crossed her arms, silent as the grave. Was it his chance to boast of his plans? Did he want to forbid her from going? Whatever it was, she cared not. Malfoy liked to blow air. So long as he blew in front of his friends with no follow through, she’d let him blow on until he tired himself out.

“We’re going after breakfast,” Draco stated in the tone as if she’d asked him his plans. Her unfazed gaze did not hinder his entitled tone. “Courtyard. Meet us there tomorrow, pet. Wear something fashionable. You do have such things, do you not?”

Tomorrow in Hogsmeade was the first meeting to discuss secret lessons from Harry. She had to be there. 

She cleared her throat, hesitant. If she mentioned Harry at all, it would become Draco’s sole mission to destroy it all. That would not happen.

“Actually, I have plans. Later.”

A ripe purple grape hopped from one finger to the next in Draco’s hand. He popped it atop his tongue with a soft squish. The spotlight of his attention made her squirm. Between his devouring gaze and the discomfort of the uncertain surroundings, it was far from relaxing. 

She jumped in her seat when a few older students raised in their seats.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “No reason to be jumpy, Granger. There is no one to hex you here.”

“Not in my experience.”

“It is now.” There was no caution in his voice. “They all know not to mess with my things.”

His things. His property. 

A person was not an item to be owned. The blood in her veins burned with oxygen and cells, same as his. The flesh stretched across her bones pierced under the same pressure of any pureblood. There was no mystery to her inner workings as some unknown creature.

Muggleborns were not created to spite the purists, no matter how they believed muggleborns the plotters of the magical world set on world domination. Funny how it was their side that truly embraced world domination, rather than acceptance.

The thought reminded Hermione to be disgusted. “I’ll keep on my guard. Thanks for the concern. Is that all? If so, I have lots of things to do before tomorrow.”

“What plans?” He asked. “You said you had plans. What are they?”

Brilliant. What was her lie? It damned well couldn’t be the secret meeting of other students.

She stole a breath. “A patron of the Hog’s Head was going to post a letter to my parents.” When she looked up from her hands in her lap, there were Slytherin faces interested in her response, not just Malfoy. They seemed confused; a few had wrinkled foreheads. “They’re uncomfortable with owls.”

“An owl?” Theo scoffed. “What do they do with their pet owls then if they don’t like a post owl?”

The stupidity made her take a slow blink to be sure it was reality.

“They don’t have pet owls, you dolt.” 

Malfoy’s tone was condescending in all senses of the word. He peered down the length of his nose with such disdain for the pureblood wizard so unlike himself who personified the makings of Slytherin house. 

The lot of them were difficult to sort. Relations between Slytherins were opposite that of the Gryffindors, who regarded their dorm mates as close friends with a clear admiration for one another as like-minded lions. 

Hermione was only news. Slytherin gossip. That was what had their attention.

“I hate the Head,” Crabbe groaned.

“Smells in there.” Goyle agreed.

She noticed a few strings on her knee, fallen from the fabric of her sweater. “He cures fish there using the most concentrated salt in the world. That’s the smell.”

The curl of Goyle’s lip didn’t change. He muttered under his breath and focused back on his own plate. By then, supper was almost done. The crowd of the Great Hall slowly trickled into the bleeding veins of the castle, a distinct problem on the grounds where warm light remained. 

Early in the term sunlight shined down for a while longer after supper. Soon enough when blistering winds closed in, darkness reigned in those long evenings, making the time pass slower than ever before. Hermione loved those days. The library felt cozier as the cool raged on outside.

She loved to look up from a warm seat and watch the swirling flourishes of frost as it crept up glass panes. A warm cup of tea. That made the moment perfect.

“Write your letter here,” Draco said after a long sip of his goblet. “Have Crabbe and Goyle take it there. You’ll reek for days after time in the Hog’s Head.”

No problem. Just have Crabbe and Goyle lead the meeting too while they’re there, to truly seal the casket. Hermione panted softly. It was unnatural to hold back the urge to shove Malfoy’s face in his words, earning herself some points within her own house and rightfully placing him on the other side of their plans, but now she was forced to play nice with him if she wished Harry to remain within school.

It was more of a feat that she believed previously.

“They don’t have to do that. I’m sure they got better stuff to do than,” she swallowed, hating herself for the next words out of her mouth, “_muggle_ stuff.”

There was a silence that swept through the ranks of the Slytherins as if they’d all heard the cursed word with supersonic hearing since most were halfway down the length of the Great Hall. 

Curious if Terrence Higgs was affected by the word, she stole a glance. One single glance. 

The mature, rugged looks were too delightful to deny herself.

Hermione knew that it was ludicrous to develop romantic crushes during the chaos of the world. She was in school still. No relationships lasted in the teenage hormone days. It was not genuine. All of it lead to sex, heartbreak, insecurity, and trouble. Even now when she was in the trouble she was with Draco being her controlling blackmailer and Voldemort on the rise, fantasizing about Terrence Higgs was the last place she should be.

The space where he’d been with his friends was empty.

It was time to leave the Great Hall. Supper was finished.

Pansy rose from her seat. “See you back in the common room, Draco.”

He nodded to each of them as they left. It was an odd habit to greet everyone by name, typically last name, and a single nod of the head. The rigid expressions on their faces unsettled her.

When it came Blaise’s turn, tension turned thick. The wizard did not speak Draco’s name nor did he nod. Gray and brown eyes locked together in a battle of silence, neither relenting their gaze toward the ground in defeat. 

Suddenly the Italian wizard’s dark eyes turned toward Hermione. “Granger,” he said with a dip of his head.

Granger was not a common name amongst the fifth year Slytherins. Most called her mudblood. She hated it, of course, but it was what they all addressed her as since they were too noble to acknowledge a muggleborn as a person. It ruined their pureblood status, somehow.

Hermione glanced toward Draco. He explicitly said no wizards. She agreed to that term. 

However, he was an absolute ass by the Black Lake. 

“Zabini.” She repeated the action back at him. 

“Let’s go, pet.” Draco was on his feet the next moment, a long shadow above her. “We’ve got work to do. Excuse us, Blaise.”

The library was a sanctuary. Hermione loved the old leather, ancient parchment smell drifted her back to a world of happiness as she pulled streams of knowledge from their pages. Her heart opened, blossomed. 

A few Ravenclaws were at a table when Draco and Hermione entered. One of the boys whispered as they passed. 

Draco kept her to his left side as he walked. Crabbe and Goyle drifted behind.

“They don’t have to follow me,” she said.

“Oh, yeah, Granger? You the boss now?” His eyes darted through the rows of books until he found an empty space with no one near. He set down his bag, pointed to the seat he intended her to occupy and helped himself to the seat straight across so they might openly glare at one another if they felt like it. She glanced sideways. Goyle and Crabbe already took seats near the door. “Must be since you’ve spoken to what, two wizards now.”

She fell into the chair. “Technically that’s not true. I did not speak to Terrence.”

“You didn’t…you didn’t want to speak to me either. In fact, you tried not to.”

That was a rock she did not want to overturn. There was too much homework to do. She pulled her books and quill from her knit messenger bag, teal embroidered with thick brown swirls. 

A foot of parchment was due in charms class. She set to work outlining the requirements, all seven of them, highlighting the exact dimensions and applications of the spell while also emphasizing the danger of a misused charm, just as Flitwick believed in his cautious nature. He made a point to mention horrible accidents when he taught. She made sure to note them during the lesson to be utilized in her own research as well as assignments.

Once he awarded her extra credit for listing every injury possible from a backfired charm spell one of his first years did when Flitwick first started teaching.

She was happily halfway done with her outline when a blistering gaze hit her hands. It was instinct to meet the gaze.

Draco sat with lips in a firm grimace. “I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she replied flatly. “But you insist we do this pathetic game.”

He growled. “Tread carefully, Granger.”

The scratch of quill against paper paused. There was half a second where she questioned the point of her current course. It was wild. Wild in a way that seemed unbelievable. The magical world did that to her often.

Instead, she continued to write her essay.

The intense blisters of focused vision moved up her fingers, painfully slowly over her arms to her face that she kept dedicated to charms work rather than the urge to wield her wand in the form of a blinding curse, which incidentally, could permanently blind him as Flitwick would warn.

She sighed. It was all for Harry. Harry and the world depended on her.

“You think you’re so better than me,” Draco spat. His rage finally got the best of him, as it always did. “I’m just as smart as you. More wealthy than this entire bloody school. Quick with a wand. Yet you put on airs as Merlin’s blessed one better than everyone here.”

All actions ceased.

The library fell silent; the Ravenclaws left. Their throng of breaths kept the sound of the room louder than the eerie quiet.

“I don’t think I’m better than you, Malfoy.”

He scoffed. “Sure you don’t. Princess of Gryffindor Tower is for the people. Things would have been better if you’d just been swallowed by the Basilisk second year. I wouldn’t have to stare at your smug face every bleeding class.”

“It wouldn’t be smug if you weren’t such a shallow prick!” Her voice carried.

A stern librarian answered the exclamation with a warning and following shush. 

Hermione settled in her chair, arms crossed, distinct anger on her face. “If you didn’t have to feel superior to every person in the entire world, you might have realized that we could have been friends. Great friends. The two most gifted students in our year, in years, with the classmates we have. Your own pride blinded you. Now you’re stuck with those two.” 

Goyle whittled his quill into a makeshift recorder, squeaky notes flew out the end with less appeal than a dying seagull. Madame Pince bustled after him. Hermione snorted a nasty sound from her nostrils.

Draco snarled as he watched his two ‘friends’ rile an old librarian in their childish ways.

“Enjoy your pride and your company.” She gathered her things quickly. “They’re clearly a great reflection of you.”


	4. Chapter 4

# CHAPTER 4

#### A Slytherin Divided

The walk to the dungeons was a silent one. Clicks of Draco’s matte black Oxford shoe heels echoed through the corridors down to the cold depths where the den was. Enchanted candles lined the way to the common room. The gray stone sweated through the growing chill the deeper they delved. 

Neither of Draco’s goons spoke. They knew better.

He ground his teeth. 

Everything about his day was going brilliantly. Granger stormed off in her irritating way, unable to take another response of his. The more he remembered it, the more he fumed. 

The damp smell rose through his nostrils as he came close to the Slytherin common room. It meant time wrapped within his bed, curtains drawn, ready to contemplate the situation he wedged himself in with Granger. 

“Vipera berus,” he hissed at a wall.

Bare stone parted to reveal a long, dark corridor. Draco and his friends swiftly ducked their heads and thrust themselves through the opening. It landed them inside their common room.

The common room was filled with Slytherin students of all ages. They littered the dim. Leather couches held first years huddled around new texts as they struggled through homework. Snape was never easy in his class. One boy wiped his hands down his uniform, wrinkling the dark fabric.

Huddled by open flame was another crossed-legged group of Slytherins. They were a year older. One of them of Higgs. He lounged casually as he debated amongst his friends how to gain favor for an election. It was rumored that Terrence had high aspirations within the Ministry as an ambassador to America. 

Influence in the Ministry was one thing. But work? Draco scoffed at the idea of being held responsible for a daily job like a commoner. 

True wizards and witches never subjected themselves to the monotony that came with employment. Brilliant minds flowed where they wished. Routine dulled the senses. It forced a sense of servitude to a being of unstoppable power, a timetable at which their brilliance was limited. 

Nothing was more unstoppable than himself. Draco knew he’d conquer without plan.

Leaders were gifted power in the world. First year he was given power over his classmates without much fight at all. They drew to him. They listened. It was natural for people to listen to him.

Some drifted away from his leadership; their minds made suspicious of others. It was their own stupidity that they weren’t suspicious from the beginning and acted against their own interest to abandon his troupe. After all, Draco learned more information than anybody. 

His connections ran deep.

Draco sat away from the crowd within the common room in a tight corner with an overstuffed arm chair seated next to a candelabra of yellow light. He worked on his assignments quietly as students younger than him relented to their exhaustion. It was an hour later, and the room was empty except for the few fifth- and sixth-year students in rigorous studies for their upcoming exams. 

O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s were vital. Futures were determined by their scores. It placed undue pressure on already struggling students. 

Not that Draco cared. He kept up well enough. Classes were not so hard for the intelligent. Granger only made it look that way because she lacked outside the classroom.

Granger. His thoughts boiled at the thought of her. 

Ever since they met, she was a nuisance. She never stayed in line. Each statement from her mouth was a need to fulfill an oath she made to make everyone else feel inferior. And how could they not? She knew everything. 

Draco was tutored by the most expensive tutors since age five. His grades followed behind hers in every subject. Every one. 

Imagine the places she might have went if she was placed in Slytherin.

He exiled thoughts of the frustrating Gryffindor as he focused on his school work, happy to rid himself of the seeping hatred that was for her, made entirely of brown curls and books.

Sometime later, a clopping drew his attention to the stairwells. Their metal-rod spiraling staircases were for each dormitory; one for girls and the other for boys. The jolting sound came from the girl’s.   
Soon enough a voice rose over all other sounds like the roar of a dragon.

“Don’t snivel, Daph. No one likes a crybaby.” It was Pansy.

He saw a fluffy pink heel emerge first. It was three inches too high, topped with long frilly strands of neon pink. The gaudy shoes were the start of a blaring ensemble of giant bangle bracelets of stark white next to a mini-skater skirt of pink lycra. The black cups of her bra were visible beneath the thin white shirt.

Daph wore an oversized black sweater, taut grey shorts and a floppy pile of unruly hair atop her head. Two giant lens magnified her eyes to twice their size. Her face rested in a state of disapproval. She twisted a fly away strand around her finger.

“I’m not crying.” Daph snipped. It was not often that Daphne Greengrass was in a mood. She was a calmer, quieter, peaceful type witch. Words that came from her mouth were brutally honest, blunt to a point, but she did not possess a mean bone in her body. Often her words were just taken that way. “I just do not think it is okay to do this. Not on one of our own. It’s wrong.”

“It is only wrong if you get caught. Now come on,” Pansy said. She rubbed a line of dark red lipstick down the length of her lips. “Watch and learn how to be a _real_ Slytherin.”

The witches rounded a corner. Draco realized they were looking for him, not grasping just how much of their conversation he’d heard. 

How, he did not know. The shrill, screeching sound of Pansy’s throat was unappealing and overpowering in every instance. She couldn’t speak soft enough to whisper. Nor did she have a voice that blended with others. It violently collided, often victorious of all others.

The witch scanned the common room. When her eyes landed upon him, there was a shift in her demeanor.

Pansy lit up when she saw him, latched a firm grip on Daphne and dragged her over while Daph covered her eyes in shame. Red flags alerted him to proceed carefully. There was no line too low that Pansy Parkinson wouldn’t cross to get what she wanted. It was a dominant Slytherin trait. One that she wore with pride.

He leaned back against the button-tuffed seat as Pansy swayed her hips up to his knees.

She knocked one knee against his with a drastic sway. “Oh, Draco. What do you think of my new skirt?”

Black fingernails danced against the hem of her skirt, high on her thigh. His eyes noted the way she swirled them against the tender flesh of her inner thigh, rising them slightly higher than the edge of the skirt. 

Draco impassively examined the thing. “It’s Muggle.”

The screeching awful sound of Pansy’s giggle made his face hurt. He swallowed back the sharp desire to cringe.

Truly. Was this the type of witch he associated with?

“It is. Muggles loves their garish designs, do they not? Look at how much cleavage is left exposed by it?” She moved closer so the non-existent cleavage leveled his line of sight. He blinked back the image. “Ah. Muggles. They do have their uses, don’t they?”

She ran a hand up his knee. It chased after his own, but when he pulled it away from her grasp, Pansy backed herself right onto his lap. She ground into him with a soft sigh.

Lust was not an easy urge to control. He knew it well. Any teenage guy knew the beckon toward an open girl was more intoxicating than a siren’s call to death-induced sex. Draco, like any other, found himself mesmerized by the curves of newly matured classmates, freshly tanned from summer holiday and curved in the perfect way.

Had he not heard the exchange on the stairs moments before, he might have fallen victim to the charm. 

Draco and Pansy had grown up together. He knew her when she couldn’t even pronounce her last name. Now she was on his lap with every intention of using his cock to persuade him of something. 

But what, he wondered, could be worth her time?

Lucky, she was not subtle. 

“Speaking of Muggle uses, I think the mudblood’s fulfilled hers, don’t you?” It was a soft purr in his ear, but he recognized the calm tone of his friend. “I just adore the way you owned her. She was so clearly in it, too, the whore. I can’t wait to tell everyone how their golden girl is nothing to you.”

She turned in his lap, lips to his ear. “Think of how humiliated she’ll be if you’re done with her. That’s what you should do. Make the filth bare the shame of being rejected by a pure-blood like you.”

He was impressed.

Pansy was better at her manipulation than he thought. It made the suggestion to break things off with the smoking hot Beauxbaton girl from the previous year clearer. He’d fallen for the same game.

Bravo Pans.

The weight in his lap felt pleasant as a pair of hips aligned with his. He wondered what Granger’s would feel like. She was thinner than Pansy. Easier to hold against his lap as he gripped each hip in hot grasping reach. 

For a moment, he pictured her above him with a look of pure ecstasy on her face. Pale pink lips pulled back in cry of pleasure. Curls down her naked chest to just rest right above her little dark nipples. She looked beautiful that way. He might like to see her, if only that way.

Draco pulled back, shocked at his own mind. He braced his control over his body in a thicker armor. 

No thoughts of Granger. No. No. No.

He pushed Pansy off his lap. “Get out of here, Pans. I can’t deal with you right now.”

“Oh really?” Her tongue ran along her top lip with a slight slurp.

He cringed. “Yeah. Get the bloody hell away from me.”

Pansy snapped up, eyes narrowed in anger. “I want that mudblood gone.”

“And I want that presumed opinion to fuck off, because I don’t care what you want. She’s my pet to do what I like with,” Draco said with restrained rage. His hands balled to fists.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re soft.” She pushed her lips out in a pout. Her eyelashes fluttered. “What’s the matter, Draco? Fancy a bit of filth, do you?”

That was it.

Draco rose to his feet. The wand in his hand snapped at the soft folds of her neck. He pushed it against her pulse with all intent to fire a few stunners, perhaps a funny hex to grow a pair of antlers out her thick skull. 

It was great disrespect to any pureblood to imply they’d dirty their bloodline with a muggleborn.

The House of Malfoy was an ancient line of all magical peoples. It never had muggle blood introduced into the ranks as long as it had been documented. 

Draco was proud of his lineage. His father boasted about it often at the very withstanding nature of Malfoy house, when all other families fell to dirty their blood with half-breeds and the like, the Malfoy name stayed clean. It was a feat. It warranted respect.

Respect from all. Including other purebloods.

“You forget yourself.” 

He was startlingly calm as he held his wand against a friend. Insult was insult. He saw nothing but a threat to his family’s pride. “I am not a Hufflepuff, Pans. I won’t stay my magic because we’re friends.”

Her eyes were enlarged. Daphne stood near, eyes blown wide. 

“See, Pans? I told you.” Daphne mumbled behind her hands.

Her friend rolled her eyes. “Shut it, Daph, unless you want your teeth turned black by tomorrow.”

“You should have listened to her. She’s smarter than you, it seems.”

“I want the mudblood gone, Draco. It isn’t right. She doesn’t belong with us.”

He was not fazed by the logic they all knew. “I want her. She’s mine. Her body and all the muddy blood within it is mine to do what I will with. Whether I spill it on the ground when the time comes, or I carry it alongside me, it is my choice. And you’ll do well to remember it.”

“What will your father say?” She scoffed.

“I’ve got myself a mudblood slave. Do you truly think he will not be proud of his son?” Draco sneered. “More importantly, think of the Dark Lord’s impression when he sees just how powerful I am over the self-righteous friend of Harry Potter. He’ll favor me. I’ll be untouchable.”

Daphne and Pansy were moved to complete silence. There was still anger knit in Pansy’s dark features along with a bit of enthrallment. He knew every face of hers. Better yet, he knew her well enough to understand why she hated Granger around while still respected him. 

Pansy Parkinson was the only girl in an all-male household. Her three older brothers babied the witch completely. She did not like attention crowded by another witch, and Hermione Granger was one of the most impressive witches of the age. 

“Fine, then. Keep your _pet_. I don’t care what you do with it.” She hurled the words out of her mouth, disgusted to be rid of them. Then she lowered it to a sound that only he could hear. “Rewards will not be reaped for the soft, Draco. I know you. Your fondness for the mudblood will betray you to the Dark Lord. He’ll see right through you.”

The words stung deep.

“Silencio.”

He stalked toward his dorm as Pansy scratched at her mouth, unable to speak and bound to silence, the greatest curse to a witch with the last word always on her tongue. 

She’d regret it.

Draco undressed quickly. His black silk pajamas were a comfort. He finally breathed out when the material caressed his woes away. The woes of his own shortcomings made him unbelievably tense.

Not that there were true shortcomings. He was perfect. He made a point of being the best. His path set him on the way to be a truly gifted wizard. There was no softness here.

Pansy. Where did she get off? He was powerful. He wasn’t above cursing well-known acquaintances as he proved time and time again. His father was the right hand of Lord Voldemort which made him an elevated level of intense. Few dared to confront him so openly.

Soft. As if he could ever become soft for a mudblood.

Sure, Granger was engaging to converse with. Her mind was a sharp whip with response to every statement he ever made, in class, in duels, in unled conversation. It was more exciting than another night with Crabbe and Goyle, endlessly burping and struggling with subjects Draco mastered weeks before and questioning his reason for intelligence when cursed with mediocrity as friends.

He didn’t like Granger. He could never like her. 

She thought she was better than him with her own intelligence and seat by Harry Potter, a golden child of the world in the closest form of prince that wizards would have. If anything, they were equals.  
Equals. Draco groaned. That meant she was right; they should have been friends.

He pictured himself and her in the library, buried in expansive research that surpassed the knowledge of seventh years, with books piled around the edges of a table, their faces near in excited debate over what they found. Ambition, a cloud over their eyes. Her hair tied tight in a braid, pulled loose by the hours of focus. She’d smile wider than he’d ever seen when she showed him it whatever it was that got her so excited in her book. 

Draco fell into the daydream. He surrounded himself with the smells of the library.

A roaring fire under a thick mantlepiece. Ancient works of long-dead wizards floated above in proud display. Granger yearned to open them. He’d find her in glazed over expression as she stared at them, a clear adoration on her face. Dust of their parchments coated the tops of her dark lashes. Heavier and heavier they became. Her blinks took longer to recover from as she stared off at those priceless books. 

He moved close to her. Close enough to smell the hot tea in her breath. He asked her a question. She didn’t respond. Draco, again, moved closer. 

Suddenly she fell against his shoulder, eyes closed, gentle breath against his neck.

She laid there cuddled against his frame as he watched flames of the fire dance their needy bodies over logs. Warmth collected on his chest. She pulled herself closer. Her lips practically rested against his throat, the closest he’d ever come to a kiss. Draco tightened his arm around her waist, so she felt flush against him. It was the limit of what he properly do.

“Draco?” He heard her murmur. 

A heavenly sigh came from her lips next.

“Hm?” 

Granger sighed, again. “Why can’t it always be like this?” She asked.

The uplifted heart that always beat in his chest dropped to his knees with a painful thud. 

Why couldn’t it? It was perfect.

“Draco.”

He opened his eyes, back at the Slytherin dorm in the morose tones of black and green, as a blank faced Goyle stood in the doorway. The wizard’s mouth moved, but his words escaped Draco’s ear.

Finally, they came to him. “When will that minger learn to shut her trap?”

“Around the time Blaise stops being a sycophant,” Draco replied.

Goyle lightly laughed in that way that meant he didn’t understand the word but knew it was supposed to be humorous and threw his books onto his bed. Half the silver sheets were pulled from the frame touching the floor while the bedspread was bundled at the foot of the bed. A black sweater hung over one of the bed posts. A sock was tucked between the mattress and frame. 

The wizard plopped down to the mess with a relieved sigh. “That’ll be the day.”

Draco rolled his eyes at the idiot. How could he not know the word?

The ceiling above them shuddered as a rowdy group of sixth years marched through their dormitory like a bunch of circus elephants intent on collapsing the walls. Annoyed, Draco silenced the noise. 

Last thing he needed reminded of was that slick git upstairs. Higgs. 

Never in the realm of possibility would Draco Malfoy lower himself onto the plane that Terrence Higgs was. It was unheard of. But thanks to that frustrating, hardheaded, muggle born witch who had him by the balls, he constantly compared himself to the bloody man. 

Higgs was no competition. Draco had to show her that.

“I want you to follow Granger tomorrow,” Draco instructed. 

The wizard perked up in his bed. “The mudblood? Still?”

“Think of it as a permanent duty.”

Goyle curled his lip into a harsh scowl. “Great. Stuck in the library forever. The mudblood is so lame.”

“Only when I’m busy,” Draco corrected. “I’ll have the mudblood with me otherwise. A pet is important to have close. Don’t want her getting into trouble now do we?”

His friend failed to see the point. He grumbled about wanting to see the ‘know-it-all’ burn in detention, or worse.

Draco’s voice turned cold. “No trouble will come to her, do you understand? She is my pet. An extension of me. You will prevent her from any trouble. Umbridge or any professor, I expect you in her place. She is not property of Gryffindor any longer. She is owned by Slytherin.”

“Why the mudblood, Draco? I don’t get it. We all hate her.”

It was worrisome that he had to explain the appeal of a female pet to another wizard, but with how treacherous times were, it made sense. Association with a muggleborn was enough for suspicion be thrown on a pureblood house. Enough suspicion made Voldemort turn distrustful. 

A silvery lie needed to convince everyone, Dark Lord included, what the benefit of Granger in their control was. If anyone could form one, it would be his father. He had better post him right away. 

“It’s Granger. Potter’s brains, you wanker.” His mind worked quickly. “We have his brains, he’s got nothing. No one will support him without Granger. If she’s owned by us, people will support us. She’ll convince those commoners to follow us. The Dark Lord will rise. He’ll purify the ranks thanks to this one little mudblood. So make sure you keep her protected. If she’s lost, the Dark Lord won’t be too happy.”

It was quiet a long moment. Goyle’s brain took its time to absorb the information, not in a rush to come to it’s own conclusions. That’d take all night.

“Alright, Draco. I’ll follow her.”


	5. Chapter 5

# CHAPTER 5

#### Inventory

“I just don’t understand it, Hermione. You don’t make any sense,” Ron grumbled. “I always knew you were backwards in ways but this. This is mad.”

The three best friends gathered at the sleepy-eyed table of Gryffindors, ready to head back to bed after breakfast before a day out on the town. A few sixth and seventh years looked rather peppy. Their bright smiling faces pulled larger scowls from those in need of more slumber. Late nights in Gryffindor Tower were not uncommon on Fridays and Saturdays. Younger years loved to celebrate freedom from their parents with boycotts on acceptable bedtimes. In the end, it did them less good.

Hermione rose at her usual time. She’d done a job with her hair. It was less poofy when she worked with it for a while in front of a mirror and a great deal of patience. It took twice as long since she was a bundle of nerves.

It was the day in Hogsmeade with Draco Malfoy.

She used both hands to sip from her teacup. “Thank you for that observation, Ronald.”

“You’re barmy.”

“So, what’s Malfoy up to these days?” It was Harry who spoke that time. “Bullying first years? Hexing everyone with backbone and a conscious?”

Hermione ventured a glance across the room. Draco’s seat at Slytherin faced hers.

He wore casual clothes, all black, ready for an outing to the village. She pictured him somewhere in a town surrounded by Muggles, watching a sports match perhaps. A quite handsome bloke outside all the nonsense they found themselves in. In a perfect world. 

She shrugged. “Most likely. It is Draco.”

“Then what the bloody hell are you doing? He’s evil. The whole lot of those Slytherins are in with Him. Malfoy especially,” Harry ranted, careful to keep his voice low enough so another fight between his house mates didn’t happen over if Voldemort was truly risen like many times before. “He probably wants to offer you up to Voldemort as a sacrifice.”

The look of rage in his face as she glanced over his shoulder scared her. Harry was not in control of himself. It was a look she was well acquainted with over their many mischiefs over the years, and it was concerning how quick he heated to a fight. As if he couldn’t wait. 

He stared at an untouched plate, gripping his fork tighter and tighter.

It was not the time. The meeting took place today. She needed him on board. 

“Are you ready for today?” She asked with the lightest tone possible.

To her right across the table, Ron reached for a second helping of sausage. He ate noisily. Juices squirted from the casing as he bit into a fresh one, clear fats ran down his chin. He took Harry watch duty very seriously, forgoing meals if it required, and since all appetite escaped Harry these days, it required a bit more frequently than he liked. 

She tried her best to spend time with them both. Her best friends needed her. Yet, every time she came around with some offer of solution or help, Harry snapped and rushed off somewhere to sulk in shadows and torture himself with the thought of Voldemort out in the world. 

No one believed him. They thought of him as a liar. She reminded herself of that many a time, but it still ached to see him turn against her as if she was one of them. Hermione never doubted that he came back. It was tearing her best friend apart. Only a powerful wizard could do that.

“Not really,” he replied blandly.

“It will be very good for everyone to learn. From you. It will mean a great deal.”

He sighed. “They all think I’m mental, Hermione. It’s all going to be a big joke. You’ll see.”

She looked to Ron for help. He, also, believed in the idea. He’d told her so when Harry was at yet another one of his detentions. 

Her piercing stare finally roused him from his plate. His eyes grew slightly. 

“They are serious, you know. Real go-getters, they are.” Ron lowered his fork as he looked for more words to say, much to the notice of his fellow table mates. Hermione was in disbelief at how awful he was assisting her in calming Harry’s nerves. In turn, he was picking at hers. “All of them want to learn from the best. That’s you, Harry. You’ve taken on dementors and three-headed dogs, and Voldemort himself. Loads of times.”

Harry dropped his goblet to the table with a loud clatter. “How many times do I have to say that it was luck?”

His footsteps were lost to the rising commotion of the Great Hall as he stormed out. Ron followed behind. His eyes downturned in concern. He looked back at Hermione with a questioning gaze which she answered back with a forced smile, and he carried on after their friend.

Both their hearts were torn. They felt the ends of Harry, things that made him so wonderful and kind, stretched thin from the pressures he felt weigh on his shoulders. He carried the world there. Little did he know, friends carried other pressures in his wake.

One night in a fit of exhaustion and distress, Ronald confided that Harry’s nightmares left him screaming half the night. Cedric. It was what was screamed the most, Ron said. He sat up most nights just to make sure Harry still breathed. The amount he tossed and turned left Ron worried that he’d stress himself into a heart attack.

She watched them walk off with a heavy heart. Things were not well.

A voice emerged beside her just as she turned around. “What was that about?”

Hermione, already a quaking body of worries, yelped. She clutched her chest as the youngest Weasley furrowed her brow in concern. The witch wore her warm jumper. It was clear that she intended to venture to town before she met up with them at Hog’s Head. 

She helped herself to some porridge and toast, a spot of tea and potatoes before she turned back to her friend.

“Well?”

“Harry is a bit nervous,” Hermione lied. She lied through her teeth to another one of her best friends. It was a wretched feeling, familiar since she’d taken to lying to her other ones about Draco. “He’ll be around soon enough.”

She grabbed hold of a teacup until any more lies, or worse the truth, would spill out.

“You sure it isn’t the fact that you’re in bed with the enemy?” 

Ginny said it as if it was the most common to say to a friend. Hermione gasped, blushed and stumbled around with words as one would expect a friend to do when insulted on a personal level. 

The two girls were best friends on the account of being the only two girls in a gang of boys. They were outnumbered in everything. It was what brought them together in the first place, to unite against the numerous attempts of pure stupidity that meant to bring each Weasley brother and Harry to certain harm. 

It was the first girlfriend that Hermione ever had. Even in primary school before her letter from Hogwarts she never had a play mate that was a girl. The territory was new. Exciting. Ginny was a long overdue stereotype from childhood that Hermione yearned for all her years alive, only to find it from her two best guy friends. Finally another witch to confide in.

Apparently, the friendship only went so far.

“I’m not in bed with anybody, Ginny.”

“Are you sure, _pet_?”

It hurt to be clearly despised by a dear friend. One with whom she pictured being more like-minded than her two other friends whom understood very little when it came to things beyond their own circle of awareness.

If only they knew how forced into the association she was. What little choice she was left. She’d protect Harry to the ends of the Earth, even if he didn’t appreciate it one bit.

She looked at her best friend with such hurt. “I know you don’t understand it. I didn’t ask you to. But I thought you’d at least support me in the decision. I am your friend, too, am I not?”

“Don’t you get it, Mione? I’m not angry that your friends with him. Well, maybe a little bit but that isn’t my point.” Ginny Weasley gripped the bench with all her might. Her knuckles turned white under the pressure. “I’m pissed because you let another person treat you that way and you just take it. Excuse it away like he hasn’t bullied you for years. Years. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn he liked you.”

Like. Ha! 

The way Draco Malfoy treated Hermione was no way to express feelings other than deep seeded hatred, which incidentally was the correct one judging by the actual statement he gave in the library the night before. He hated her. Nothing more can be said on the subject. 

“Using that logic, one can also arrive at the belief that he really likes Harry and Ron, and Neville.”

“Wizards don’t count. They’ll fight over anything just to be the better one. Trust me, I know. I’ve got brothers,” Ginny retorted. “You’re a witch, Hermione. A brilliant, talented, strong witch. What wizard isn’t intimidated and attracted to that? Malfoy may be repugnant in every way, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to such feelings.”

Now that was too far.

Hermione crossed her arms. “You are not seriously implying that Draco Malfoy has a crush on me.”

“I can’t say what his feelings are, but I know they’re not what he displays.”

“So what’s your problem that we’re friends?”

Alarms scoured her body when a sad smile crossed her friends’ lips, hands slid into hers with a steady eye. It felt like a moment when worlds shattered. Revelations of things bigger than life.

And right now, she could not deal with any of those.

Breakfast was almost at an end. Most of the Slytherin table was gone.

Oh, shoot. She’d lost Malfoy in the madness. He must have went on to Hogsmeade without her. That would cost her big time.

“He isn’t friends with you. He’s preventing himself from confronting his feelings for you by making sure you can’t develop any feelings for anyone else either. That isn’t friendship. It’s control.”

It was laughable. Utterly hysterical. 

“Ginny you’ve gotten this entire thing wrong.”

“Want to double date? Once you get him to admit his feelings for you, obviously,” Ginny said with a surprisingly straight face. “I don’t think you should see him until he does that. It isn’t healthy what he’s doing. It’s even worse on all of us. Harry just gets mad about it and rants to anyone who makes the mistake of being near. It is unbelievably awkward.”

There were so many directions to respond to, the most trying being the part about double dating with Draco bleeding Malfoy! What on Earth was wrong with this witch? Then of course, Ginny wanted her to avoid Draco, which could not happen if she wished to keep Harry out of trouble.

News of Harry’s anger about it did not feel good either. She knew he was furious. It was their childhood bully with whom she cavorted with. However, there was nothing unsavory about it. They did not flaunt it in front of him. He was never around to begin with. 

He was the one who retreated. She didn’t even know what his problem was. All he did was get angry and storm off. Ron and Hermione gave their best effort to be supportive to him in any way he might need, but it was not enough to keep him calm. 

The battle for Harry Potter was pulled onto Voldemort’s side rather than theirs. 

She knew the signs. The lack of sleep, mumbling of dreams, his scar pain, the uncontrollable rage. Dark was claiming his soul. Darkness had inched its way inside, now ready to fight over the fickle light that was there.

Exposure to rotten things made the hold stronger. He was raised by abusive caregivers (she refused to think of them as his family since they were so horrible), near death experiences every school year, the most evil being ever to walk attempts to murder him to control the world and now ostracized in the last sanctuary he had left. So much black clouded his life. 

It made the fight that much harder.

Opting to avoid the topic of Draco Malfoy, Hermione asked, “Why are things awkward around Harry?”

Her friend pushed her lips into a thin line and shrugged. “Oh. I don’t know. It’s just that I spent so much time, pining for him, that being friends is a bit awkward. Every time I start to stare into his green eyes I remember how beautiful they are and just want to stay that way forever.” She gave a delighted sigh, clearly lost in thought. 

Ginny’s long-standing crush on Harry was clearly not as over as the witch proclaimed. 

She swallowed back the urge to tell her so. It was not the right time. Michael and Ginny were good together. They deserved a chance to develop something legitimate without Harry in the way. 

It was a sorry thing to move on from a wizard whom was best friends with her brother. She sat him every holiday, all term, and most possibly after their Hogwarts education. That was a difficult fate to escape. 

Hermione patted her leg. “They are very pretty eyes.”

“They are!” Ginny repeated. Then she sank into a small voice. “They are. Very pretty.”

Both girls sat there in the quiet of the Great Hall as the world passed on by them. Plates were cleared away. Food taken back to the kitchens by house elves. Professors left their high table to go about their own activities. Most students were gone. The only ones that remained had towers of books on each side, quill in hand and nose buried deep into an assignment. 

Sometime later, shadows fell over the two witches. They turned in surprise.

Hermione deflated. “I should go.”

Ginny looked up at their two scowled faces, not impacted by the intimidating nature they were going for. They put it on every time they approached Hermione with word from Draco and since she detested the way he ordered her around in spite of her agreement to be willing, she took her rage out on the followers. 

This morning, she was not in the mood to fight. There was too much at stake to allow something impact her time with Draco thus delaying the meeting. 

“Ah, the bodyguards. Busy day?” She greeted them with a teasing smile.

“Shut it, Weasley.”

“Welp. I did my good deed for the day,” Ginny said. “Sod off, prats.”

She gave Hermione a nod before she left the table, shoved her way through the dense wall of Slytherin potato heads and walked off.

Said potato heads waited for Hermione to gather her sweater, jumper, hat, and gloves, and stalked her toward the courtyard where a group of fifth year Slytherins waited. 

Draco was at the head of the group, one hand in his pocket the other displaying a watch to his face as he tapped his toes. Pansy had her arms crossed. The look on her face read the total look of disgust as Hermione came closer, and it made her want to turn the other way and flee the opposite direction as it was meant to. Pansy did the exact thing to fourth years; they’d dealt with her bullying the longest, so they knew when to run.

There was Daphne Greengrass, Theo Nott, Tracey Davis, and Millicent Bulstrode, too. 

They all waited with their hands in their pockets, leaned against something as they mumbled amongst themselves.

“About time, pet,” Draco said coolly. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

He seemed in a mood, so she said nothing. Instead she fell in line right behind him on the right side at the front of Slytherins and marched in silence as they moved toward Hogsmeade.

They seemed to be used to her already. The Slytherin’s ignored her as they conversed. 

“How come Blaise didn’t come?” Daphne questioned.

“Don’t know,” Theo answered. “Said he would last night.”

“He was sleeping when I came down for breakfast,” Crabbe said. “Didn’t look like he’d been up yet.”

Pansy scoffed. “That’s not like him. Doesn’t he pride himself on being so punctual with the day?”

“Must have drank something that made him sleepy,” Draco mumbled under his breath.

No one except Hermione heard him. She watched him closely as they walked the long way to the village. 

He had long strides. As he walked his legs extended out in front of him like two broomsticks, narrow and rigid. His back, too, was kept rigid. Draco prided himself on his appearance. He walked with absolute assurance none of his clothes would be disturbed. She saw him cast the cleaning spell twice to rid his boots of filth. Filth on the very ground in which they walked where filth was a constant.

She noticed the way his jaw tensed as they neared the village. He stood straighter (how was that possible?). Wand very near the palm of his hand from the accessible holder at his forearm. Hermione worried over what conflicts were expected on the trip and readied herself to sling a few spells on the fly.

Hogsmeade village was the only all magical town in Britain. It was filled entirely of magical peoples. A large cobblestone street lined with shops was the center of town where most students congregated during the free weekends. There were little cottages filled with specialty items. Honeydukes was also along this stretch. It was most popular with younger years. 

There was a little tea shop off the main road. Madame Puddifoot’s. It was ghastly, but with very few choices for more intimate settings, Hogwarts couples loved to order their coffee in the crowded shop and curl up together for a bit of quality time. The tacky green and pink-dotted curtains were adorned with oversized bows. It was over-the-top romance.

Far out of town was the infamous Shrieking Shack, the most haunted building in all of Britain. It attracted wizards and witches from all around. It helped keep the town alive when Hogwarts turned dead at term end. 

The majority of the town was pleasant looking. More so during the holidays when the town decorated their trees and lampposts with enchanted candles. Worthy of a postcard if wizards had such things.

As they walked through town, the group got smaller and smaller as branches of them broke out on their own adventure. Pansy and Tracey went off into a robe shop with the hopes of finding something new. Crabbe stopped off at Madame Puddifoot’s for a spot of tea and biscuits though having finished breakfast not long ago. Goyle and Theo had entered a Quidditch shop, Spintwitches Sporting Needs, along with most of the older wizards apart of house teams before Draco even overlooked his shoulder.

“Come. This way,” was all he said.

She was quite curious as to where he might lead. He stepped with intention. His mind was made up where their destination was, information on such a list that she found herself not privy too until arrival.  
There was a cauldron shop. Matte black of every size hung from the rafters of the small shop. She paused and peered in. 

A tiny little man with a drooping hat stirred over the largest cauldron she’d ever seen. The insides were neon purple. A distinct silver shimmered reflected candlelight. The man pulled a vial from his breast pocket, tipped the lip ever so slight so that only one droplet of the potion fell into the open mouth of the pot and the potion changed from purple to blood red. Bits of the concoction bubbled up. It spat right into the man’s face. 

She reached for her wand, ready to assist the man when he just shook his head and grumbled, “Blasted stuff,” and wiped it away. 

There was no visible injury. His skin was the same as it had been. 

A hand touched hers on the glass. She hadn’t realized that she’d pressed herself against the glass.

She glanced over at Draco with surprise.

He snapped his hand back to his side. “Come, pet. It is a bit further. Try not to wander.”

She frantically searched her mind for an answer. Eventually she came up with, “I thought he needed help.”

“Cannot save everyone,” Draco said blandly. “If it was his time to go by potion mishap, then it was his time. Cannot stop the world from horrors, Granger. Horrors happen whether we like it or not.”

“Must be nice to enjoy them,” she murmured. 

It was half-hearted at best.

They left the main road. Draco splintered off into smaller streets, doorstep after doorstep around them. There were alleys with broken brooms, bent owl cages and leaves blown in from the surrounding wood.

Draco gestured to weakened cobblestones once or twice, ensuring she didn’t fall over them as they passed. It went on forever in those streets until she was sure they weren’t in the village anymore when they stumbled upon a small cottage on the edge of town. 

Goosebumps crept up her flesh. It was alone. Forgotten. Trees formed a dense canopy above the roof, little sunlight punctured the green ceiling. A blanket of black over the entire plot.

The rough stucco turned tan the closer they approached; the dark lifted to a shade of similar hues as the others in Hogsmeade. There was a rounded archway at the start to the property along the fence and again at the front door. Just above the doorway was an eyebrow window. It was whimsical to see in real life. Britain rarely had such buildings anymore. Hermione was enchanted by the little house otherwise overlooked on the street. 

Draco Malfoy kept straight along his way directly to the cottage as she slowed.

There were no signs on the street. It did not look a shop of any kind.

“Dr-draco. I think someone lives here.” Her voice was small.

He snorted. “Course someone lives here.”

His arm outstretched and waited for her to come by his side. Like it was normal. Normal for him to be so genuine and un-prat like toward her.

She didn’t think it was possible, but her goosebumps raised a centimeter higher.

The wizard knocked on the oak door. It groaned open. Two large, black eyes peered from behind.

“Yes?” It hissed.

Hermione gulped her fear down, fingering the wand at her side.

Draco did not greet the man nor identify himself. “I have come to see your inventory. Like we discussed.”

Inventory? What sort of place was it?

The cottage door opened, pitch black within, and swallowed them whole as they stepped through a portal seemingly because on the other side was a well-lit room adorned in flowering wallpaper all blossoms opened up to the light, crimson curtains over strange shaped windows of color glass, thick trim of warm wood all over and chocolate embroidered furniture. A cauldron boiled overtop embers of a fireplace. Steam rolled from the lip of the lid. 

Man, cloaked in grey robes, crossed through the room toward the alcove kitchen. Draco followed, hand in pocket, all too cavalier in the foreign place. 

Frames on the walls were of poisonous plants. Sweetheart ivy vines tangled in the wooden frame. It batted at her as she hopped by. She rested her palm against her wand from that point on.

A hidden staircase behind the cupboards invited them deeper into the dwelling. Air turned damp as they descended. It was silent. None of their pounding steps echoed through the bricked column they spiraled down, growing blacker as they pushed on. The heat of her breath was the only warmth she felt. 

Except at the nape of her neck where nervous sweat collected. It frizzed her baby hairs out of her spell. 

She kept her pace slow in case of ambush at the bottom. Her fingers tensed at the hilt of her wand as the floor neared. Strain gathered in her spine. It forced shocks of nervous twitches throughout her body. Every new sensation warranted a careful look into naught but darkness.

Hermione glanced back up the way she came, certain she’d heard another on the staircase, and when she turned back, a pale hand shot through the dark. Her wand flew to her fingers. It reached out past the hand to the body it was attached. Her heart throbbed in her ears.

Trusting Malfoy was a big mistake. What a surprise! Now she had to battle her way out of whatever madness he’d stolen her away to. 

The wand stayed fixed and level until Draco melted into sight. Her wood was at his throat.

He lifted a brow, and she lowered it, though the thought to curse him crossed her mind. It would not solve her problems. He still held power over her. Baiting Harry into a duel was easier than breathing for him.

“No need to jump at shadows when you’re with me,” he murmured.

“Why, because you’re the one I should look out for?”

The wand slipped back into her pocket, easy to reach but out of sight. The insult of pulling a wand on a stranger was not well received. She didn’t want the cloaked man to be misunderstand her intention.

Draco smirked. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d do it already.”

“I wish you would,” Hermione replied.

“Better to leave you in suspense. You’re quite unhinged with the unexpected.”

She glared and crossed her arms.

They finished the length of the stairs and reached the bottom just as the man waved his wand over an empty space of wall.

Cracks grew through the wall. Bits of wall flew creating a dense cloud of dust. 

Draco snarled and casted a spell that dispersed the dust away from their clothes. “Careful, Lafont. You do know how much this coat costs, don’t you?”

Discomfort of the quiet riled her nerves once more. What was behind the door? Why must they be so quiet? How much trouble was Draco in? 

The cracks formed a ragged doorway. Draco and Hermione were waved through in front of the man, raising her tension from her knees to her neck. 

Oh, Godric.


	6. Chapter 6

# CHAPTER 6

#### Assumptions

“Animals?” She questioned in disbelief.

All around them were animals in enchanted cages. One entire wall was compromised of cats. They swatted at charmed toy mice. Some laid under a light in peaceful slumber. 

There were owls that hooted for attention so loudly she wished she’d brought treats.

A few toads croaked and hopped over slippery rocks in their enclosure and rats raced through the whole room in their colored tubes that interlaced the other animal cages except one that was below their feet.

She yelped in surprise.

Draco snickered. “Don’t tell me the mighty lion is scared of a few snakes.”

“I’m not,” she gasped. “Just don’t care to have the floor fall out from under me.”

The floor stared into the den where snakes of all colors entwined together. Rusty orange, neon green and fire red all muddled for warmth under a pale light. There were small rivers that cut through the entire floor where some snakes slithered to and fro. Another den rested at the end of the room.

It gave her the creeps to step over such treachery. She avoided the snakes as best she could.

“What are we here for, Draco?” She asked, hugging her arms around herself.

“I find the answer quite obvious,” he stated.

She sighed. “An animal, clearly. I just don’t understand why I’m here.”

“You go where I go, as per the agreement.”

“I didn’t agree to be a part of the black market. This place is illegal. If the Ministry even finds out we’re here…”

Sweat started to pour from her now. The Ministry would oblivivate her if she got into trouble. A muggleborn only had so many chances in the world. One mistake could send her back without memory of her friends, the wizarding world, all she’d learned.

“Relax, pet. We won’t be caught,” he said. 

“That means nothing to me! You’ve had it out for me for years. You would have thrown me into the Chamber of Secrets if you could have and now, I’m supposed to just trust your word like we aren’t mortal enemies?”

“Yes.”

At least he didn’t deny the truth. That would have panicked her more.

“Why?” She breathed. “Why can I trust you now?”

He stood, hand in pocket, not bothered. His eyes remained on her as they had since entering the room. Collected. Cool. There was not an ounce of interest in the animals around him.

Draco stepped closer. The tips of his shoes touched hers. Those gray eyes a focus in her mind.

“Because, Granger.” His voice entered as a soft murmur. It was light and airy. For a moment she felt warmed by the gentle caress of them. “I do not want that anymore.”

The man, Lafont, entered the room, face shadowed by the overhang of his hood. Draco stepped away. His attention returned to Lafont whom stood in front of the cat cages, wand lifting the spell over their little eyes so that they now took notice of the wizards in their midst. 

A chorus of meowing started. Paws swatted outside the bars toward Hermione.

“Smartest batch I’ve had. All of them are able to pick the locks if left like this.” He gestured to the rather Muggle looking locks at the cage doors. “These things will do the job nicely.”

Draco nodded. “Are all the animals capable?”

“Yes, sir. But cats are the best bet inside the castle. They move the fastest. Owls are much slower with obstacles, frogs, too. The snakes might do better, but they’ll be noticed on the staircases,” Lafont explained. “Were you interested in something other than a cat?”

Then he turned back to her, a quirked brow. “Well?”

Needless to say, she was surprised.

“What? Me?”

“We need a way to communicate inside Hogwarts. I can’t very well enter the tower now can I? Same for you in the dungeons. Hm.” He held his chin. “I’d prefer a serpent, but I suppose those Gryffindors would rather you have a cat, wouldn’t they?” Draco examined a few meowing cats closely. One reached bared claws out at this hair, batting the long strands every which way. He retracted with his hands running through the tousled style. “Beasts.”

The brown cat was fluffy with wild orange eyes. It flicked its tail back and forth as it eyed Draco closely. She tried her luck. Hermione wiggled a single finger between the bars. The cat sniffed her gently before giving it a good lick.

She bit back a smile. “I like this one.”

“Not that one,” he growled.

“Why not?” Her hands flew to her hips. “It’s going to be mine, isn’t it?”

“Ours,” he corrected sharply. “It has to like me, too. Lest the point be moot. An enchanted cat that doesn’t like me will hardly carry my messages.”

Enchanted. No wonder the man took such precautions. Enchanted animals were highly regulated by the Ministry. Animals of higher intelligences made wizards nervous, especially ones that had secrets to keep. 

Cats and snakes and frogs were able to spy easily. They were beyond normal intelligence, able to escape obstacles and struggles, while communicating with people rather effectively. Some thought they were animagi, but that was an incorrect assumption. They were animals. Not people disguised as animals.

She’d been enthralled with the idea of an enchanted familiar. A true familiar.

Crookshanks was close to being one until her mother accidently ran over him during holiday. It’d been devastating to lose such a part of her wizarding life in the muggle half of it. There was no one who took a share in the pain of it. Most muggles replaced pets so easily. They didn’t understand the bond a familiar takes with their owner. A mutual soul sharing. It was deeply intense and impacted one another.

Though she hated to admit it, but she did want one. Something Malfoy could not learn.

She crossed her arms and followed him down the line as he searched through the enchanted animals with a metaphorical fine-tooth comb until his eyes landed on something that pleased his eye.

It was a short haired, brilliant white cat with two sharp blue eyes. It sat still. The two eyes were the only part of it that moved as they approached the cage.

“That one is a bit odd,” the man called out behind them. “He is quite calm. Never paces like the others. But with your back turned, he gets the most of his work done. One you’ve got to watch out for. He’s escaped five times, that one.”

The news pleased Draco. He smiled, impressed with the intellect. Hermione, too, had to admit that she was impressed no matter how eerie the cat was.

“He’s perfect,” he said suddenly.

She snorted. “Perfect? Why is yours perfect but the one I picked unacceptable?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

He glared. “Because I said so.”

There it was again. The overbearing, self-important Malfoy that she knew and the ugly sneer that came along with it. She wanted to smack it. Really hard. 

Her fist balled as he debated over a ridiculous price for the pet. Enchanted or not. 

Hermione couldn’t stand it. He didn’t even look at her as he spoke with the man. All his focus stayed on the man and the bloody cat _he_ wanted. 

“I don’t want it,” she finally said after a few tense moments of fuming. His power over her was not settled. She needed to fight against it. It was too easy on him. There had to be more fights. Soon enough he’d grow tired of it and release her from the stupid agreement.

“We need one.”

Her vision narrowed to slits. “I want the brown cat.”

“It doesn’t like me,” he spat. “I’ll not buy an infernal beast that doesn’t like me all to appease your ego, Granger.”

Ego? Ego. Really. Of all the egos in the world, his was the most demanding!

She really didn’t think about what she was doing. Anger overtook the reigns. It steered with big stomping feet back up the dark staircase, now less threatening than before, through the creepy cottage where she stunned the reaching vines of the plants and out back toward Hogsmeade. 

Real things demanded her time.

Harry. Her friends. The meeting. All of it was more important. The Order needed them at top fighting shape. Why was she amusing herself with Draco? He was less concerning than a bad case of dragon pox. 

It took many minutes, but the rage faded once her mind caught wind of what should take place at the meeting. A secret meeting to form a forbidden study group. There should be precautions. Rules.

She formed the list in her mind by the time she caught sight of Harry and Ron in Hogsmeade, leaving Honeydukes. They sported a few lollies. Nothing spectacular as they used to in their younger days. 

They looked in a better mood than breakfast, too. Thank Merlin for it. Another foul mood was the last thing she needed right now.

Lucky the meeting went well. As best as it could have, she supposed. There were members to their group now. Confirmed. They all signed a list that bound them to the secret of not telling anyone else of what they were doing. Harry was thrilled by the end of it. 

She assumed it was because his confidence was boosted by the meeting, only until she noticed Cho Chang and the way he perked up when the Ravenclaw caught his eye. Hermione felt relieved. A bit of joy was good for him. He needed it. After all he’d gone through, a girlfriend might bring it all around.

Cho was Cedric Diggory’s girlfriend. She grieved his loss every day since the Tri-Wizard tournament. So did Harry. Together they might overcome their grief.

It had to be explained to Ron who was still under the impression that Harry was for Ginny. That awkward explanation of Ginny dating Michael was left up to her since Harry was lost in his own blissful daydream and clearly it needed to be said. She didn’t want Ron getting in a huff for nothing.

“Dating?” Ron was shocked. “For how long? How come nobody told me?”

“Your sister does not have to report her personal life to you, Ronald.”

Ron groaned. “She could at least tell me before you.”

“For your information, she’s liked Michael since last term,” Hermione said. “She didn’t want to tell you because of how you’d react. Look at your face. It’s gone all red. You can’t just bully her boyfriend because you’re her older brother. She can make her own choices.”

He huffed and groaned about it all the way back to the castle. Nobody listened. 

Harry was too happy to care. His thoughts were all lost in Cho to hear anyone.

The group split once they got back. Harry had Quidditch practice. He had to make up for all the ones he missed during detention. That meant Ron would sneak off for a few games of Wizards Chess in the common room. They got quite competitive. Some of the boys placed bets on the games. 

Not when she was around. A Prefect was expected to curb out such practices within the houses. It was a job she took seriously.

She headed down to the library to complete some assignments since her week of patrol started that night. It lasted Saturday to Saturday. Prefects patrolled the halls and corridors to ensure no students were out after curfew. Typically Heads of House, Filch, and the same house Prefects patrolled; the house prefects filtered through on a weekly basis. 

Hannah had fallen sick during Hufflepuffs week of patrol, so Ron patrolled with Ernie. He didn’t want to pull a double shift, and Hannah was still ill, so Anthony Goldstein of Ravenclaw patrolled with Hermione on Gryffindors rotation. 

It was all a mess.

She was due to patrol this week, but with whom, she couldn’t remember. Everyone else switched their shifts to suit their needs. Except her. 

Responsibility was not something to be juggled when inconvenient. Prefect was an important duty. It was meant to be taken seriously. Being a role model to the younger years and assisting around the castle were only a few of the ways they were useful.

Hermione worked through lunch on her week’s assignments. There was so much reading she wanted done in preparation. It took for a few more hours to tackle it all. 

She’d just about finished her last potion parchment when out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure stalking close. It was adorned in all black. Clearly only one dressed for a funeral 24/7. 

“You have a lot of nerve, you know.”

A voice answered, but not from the right person. “Haven’t given in, have you?”

Her heart throbbed twice as hard when Terrence Higgs slid into the seat next to hers. His ocean fresh scent greeted her like an old friend. It took a great concentration for her eyes not to roll back.

“Sorry, I thought you were, well, somebody else.” She blushed.

“Malfoy, right?”

Terrence swept black locks into a low knot at the base of his skull. Then came those enchanting eyes. They singled in on her and she felt a flutter in her belly. 

She quickly blushed and looked back down at her book. “Oh, uh, no, actually.”

Godric Gryffindor. He had silver rings in his ears. How hadn’t she noticed them before?

Well, she’d been distracted by the hair. And his body, which was thick with muscles. He was a strong Quidditch player. She saw him on the pitch before. If Malfoy was able to be toned and still slender as a stick, Higgs was bound to be packed with firm muscle. He looked it. 

There was a difference in his appearance. He shaved off his facial hair. It had made him look so mature, distinguished from the other wizards. However, the naked face result was just as pleasant. He was very attractive. Rugged. 

For some reason it reminded her of Krum.

“Right. He isn’t one with much nerve is he?” Higgs grinned. 

She relaxed her shoulders and smiled a bit. “Fine. It was him who I expected since no one else shares a love of the macabre like he does.”

“You call this macabre?”

“Everything’s black,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “I prefer muted tones. That makes me at the very least, boring. Not like that prat, Malfoy, whose more – what’s the word for it? Oh yes. – theatrical. He loves a grand entrance. Like Dracula.”

She bit back a fit of giggles at the thought of Draco Malfoy being Dracula then grew horrified at how similar they were. 

Her face must have read the revelation because Terrence started to laugh, too. It eased her conscious as she giggled. It was not because he was funny; she didn’t want him to feel bad. It was a pity laugh. A few for good measure.

She shook her head as she turned back to her work and said, “Dracula. Perhaps he’s some distant relation.”

“You never know with them Malfoy’s. They’ve got loads of secrets buried in their vaults.”

It was off hand enough. Everyone knew that Lucius Malfoy was a man of many reaches. Those came with secrets. 

Something about it made her bristle. 

“I hear it is a Slytherin thing,” she stated, eyes stared intently at the work in front of her.

“There are different kind of Slytherins.” His face turned serious in an instant. The cheerful tone of his voice vanished under way. 

That brought her attention back to his eyes. “And what kind are you, Higgs?”

He smirked. “Call me Terry.”

She sighed. “What kind of Slytherin are you, _Terry_?”

“Not one of the ones you have to worry about.”

It was wrong to punish an entire quarter of wizarding England for the works of a few that soiled their house’s name. More than that, it was the same as the assumption about muggleborns. Purebloods hated muggleborns for their existence, and the rest of the country assumed that they all hated each other the same which left a number of the students targeted by unfairness.

Draco was the maker of troubles for her. Ever since she stepped into Hogwarts, he made her life hell. 

The same had to be said for wizards and witches like Higgs, whom were not bullies or purists, just rather similar in other ways. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Terry. Thanks.” She smiled gently.

A little while later whilst the two of them were in quiet study of their textbooks, a Ravenclaw student approached. It was Pavarti Patil’s, a Gryffindor dorm mate of hers, twin sister, Padma. Padma was the other Ravenclaw prefect. 

She gave a small wave. “Hi Hermione. Just thought I’d let you know you’ll be patrolling with me tonight.”

The way Padma looked at Terry made Hermione feel a bit uncomfortable. She introduced the pair. Terry extended his hand in a handshake, which Padma did accept, albeit not out of want but rather expectation. 

“Meet you by the fourth-floor loo,” she said.

There was full intention to respond on Hermione’s part, but just as she formed a reply, Padma walked off without another word. It made things quite uncomfortable at the table. Terry was kind enough. He hadn’t done a thing wrong. 

Padma’s manners were unrefined. She formed a speech for the ignorant witch as she scribbled her notes with such a fury that the quill end snapped. 

Terrence noticed. He just shook his head.

“It does not matter.”

She felt an urge to suddenly snap.

“It isn’t right for them to treat you that way,” she fumed. “Why, it’s no better than how Malfoy and Pansy treat everyone else. Hasn’t anyone got manners better than that?”

“You do,” he said.

“That’s the problem. It is only I who see it that way. Even my own friends think it is right to judge people on assumption.” She muttered repair spell to mend the broken tip. “Mite hard work to do alone.”

He shrugged. “One of my best friends was a Hufflepuff. He said the same thing.”

Was. Past tense. Not anymore.

There was only Hufflepuff no longer one. 

“Oh.” She frowned. “I’m sorry. I – I – I didn’t know that Cedric was…your friend.”

“Our paths crossed a lot. Quidditch. Class. We became prefects together our fifth year. Did everything together, we did,” Terrence said sadly. His eyes looked lost within a memory.

Her heart hurt so much. That look plagued her thoughts. She knew Harry had that very same look as he recalled the Tri-Wizard tournament, the only time he’d been close to Cedric Diggory before his death. 

His hand rested against the table. She reached out to touch it gently, but he jerked away. It startled her. 

“I’m sorry. I just was going to say how sorry I am for your loss,” she explained. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He chuckled harshly as he placed his hand back in its place upon his bouncing knee. “Bad habit, I suppose. We Slytherins can’t trust too many in this school. The older ones are alright, but you younger years are something else. Got a score to settle with the world so you take it out on us.”

“You don’t really think us so blind, do you?”

“I know Malfoy is king tosser of all tossers, but he isn’t the whole house. Some of us aren’t all bad.” He was serious, entirely. The features of his faces were lost to the weight of his words, sloped and hurt. It was very different from the rage that the fifth year Slytherins gave. “I consider myself a happy person. I’m not giddy at day long like an idiot, but I don’t lurk in shadows and plot my enemies’ deaths. We’re all just people same as you guys are. Yeah, we’re a bit different. We have some bad wizards. We are more apt to dark magic. We are stilted, withdrawn, traditional. But that doesn’t make us bad.”

She hadn’t considered that line of perspective before. Slytherins were a bad house. It was common knowledge between the other three houses, even Slytherin itself seemed to love its reputation, unbothered by their affiliation. 

Malfoy flaunted his pureblood status. He never spared the ‘M’ word if he could help it.

Another one was Blaise Zabini. He flat out refused to communicate with a muggleborn. He once earned himself a zero in daily performance for being partnered with a half-breed witch from Ravenclaw, Lisa Turpin. 

Her little experience with older Slytherin students other than those on the Quidditch pitch who were ruthless in their conquest made her question just how far she judged the entire house on the sole acts of a few. 

It was not flattering. A narrow mind led to narrow thinking. That was something she prided herself on not using. She explored all waves of thought when it came to her education and personal life. Tradition was no excuse for things. Being a good person meant a change in many things that were done without thought that often disenfranchised others.

‘Never judge a book by its cover’ was her entire life’s motto. She’d meant it literally, but it worked in the figurative sense as well. 

Some time later Terrence left. He was meeting his cousin in Hogsmeade to buy her some things that she already lost. It made him light up to talk about her. Hermione felt her attraction grow to him tenfold. 

She said goodbye as indifferent as she could manage to save what little pride she had and sat in the library for a while longer until it turned dreary and lonely. 

Her Saturday was quite a mess. What a great way to start her patrolling shift. Instead of getting enough sleep, she would be catching students out of bed after hours and escorting them back to their houses for points deductions. 

Plus, the fact she had to spend it with Padma after how she treated Terry. It’d be a wonder if it didn’t end up in a verbal altercation. It was not difficult to imagine with the way she still boiled when Malfoy entered her mind. 

Bloody prat!

Hermione headed off toward Gryffindor Tower. It was not her sanctuary, but at least Ron was there. He had a knack to make her laugh. And become even more frustrated…

It was a gamble she was willing to take. She needed her friend. 

“Mimbulus mimbletonia,” she whispered to the Fat Lady portrait.

The entrance to the tower was on a landing in the enchanted staircases. It was the portrait of a woman, rather large, donned in a pink silk dress that rolled onto the ground obscuring her feet below. A classical scene was depicted behind her. It was very roman, perhaps Grecian. 

The Fat Lady sipped from the brim of a wine glass. She giggled annoyingly as Hermione passed through the hole into the common room.

Gryffindor Common Room was a warm place. A fire always blazed into the mighty lion’s den, ready to cure a chill from the drafty towers where the dormitories were located. She loved the smell when she entered. A hot steamy cloud of something. Home. 

Tension fell away in an instant. 

For a moment, she forgot why she avoided the common room this term. Seamus Finnigan mumbled something when he spied her. She chose to ignore him. The stupid Irish wizard was the least of her problems.

In a corner of the room was Ron in front of a chess board with Neville who was looking rather sweaty.

Neville Longbottom was a nervous wizard by nature. He jumped at just about everything. Out of a crowd you’d never expect him to be scared of much with his size, towering over her head a few times over, but he was just that: a gentle giant. Much like Hagrid. She touched his shoulder before she spoke.

“Hello Neville.” She smiled.

He looked over his shoulder. “G’day Hermione.”

“Hey Mione.” Ron didn’t bother to raise his eyes from the board. Wizards chess was his thing. A skill that required much attention and practice by the way Ron spent his time. Much less could be said for his schoolwork. “Seen Harry?”

She froze. “No. Have you?”

“Nope.”

“Knight to B5,” Neville croaked. He swept his bangs aside to watch the piece move across the board.

“Queen to B5.” He didn’t look guilty in the least bit to watch Neville piece be smashed to smithereens. His queen trashed the horse until the dust was swept from the board before she sat into her throne once more, proudly. 

Hermione was not a fan of wizards chess. She’d played Ron once, and lost. It was not an experience she wanted to repeat.

“Don’t you think you should go look for him instead of playing a game?” She asked Ron.

He had yet to look up from the board. “I feel like a nutter following him all around. I reckon he’s getting sick of me doing it. He gave me the slip just yesterday. Thought he’d tear my head off.”

“But what if he gets himself into trouble?”

Ron and she spoke of it extensively. That’s why she thought they both agreed that he needed to be looked after until he got right again.

Apparently, the plan had sometime changed without her notification. 

“I’d suspect he’d be back to his old self again,” Ron snickered as he ordered yet another piece to overtake Neville’s.

Neville swallowed. “Blimey. You’ve got half my pieces already.” 

“But Ron -.”

“He’s fine, Hermione. You saw him. Let the man breathe a bit.”

Fine.

It could be said that Harry did deserve a little room to be alone. She did not agree with it, but if Ron felt it was right, then she had to trust that he understood boy logic better than her since the logic was not much like regular logic. 

She set about to wait for him. One of the tables of the common room was claimed for all her studies. All her books, assignments, tables and charts laid out over the wood. It helped her thoughts flow organically with everything within reach so that she might function more efficiently. 

Gryffindors flowed in and out of the common room all day. One guy stopped when he entered. She leapt up, thinking it might be Harry, but it was just an older year. Cormac something. The blonde was known for being apart of a powerful family, just as much as the Malfoy’s within the Ministry, though she doubted he was nearly as rich. He seemed the type to flaunt such a wealth had he had it. She settled back down. She’d just turned back to her work when she looked up absently and saw him wink. 

What was with these wizards?

She worked into late afternoon lost in her studies until Ron finished his chess game with a newfound desire to bother her now that she’d finally gotten into the groove of things. He liked to talk. A lot.   
It would be just as her quill touched parchment when his mouth opened with some kind of statement that warranted a response whether it was to correct it or bask in disbelief. 

“You’re awful testy,” he commented ten minutes into the exchange. “Thought you’d be in a better mood.”

“Why exactly?”

Her life was a mess. She couldn’t think straight. People followed her all day long. 

Voldemort was risen. Harry was losing his mind in slow torture and Dumbledore no longer could protect them from the hands of the Ministry. 

Oh! Of course, there was the reality of dealing with Malfoy on a daily basis.

“The meeting went well. Harry’s all cheered up. Just thought it meant you’d relax a little.” Ron shrugged.

The lax attitude he took to the situation bothered her. She exhaled out her nose to keep her mouth from running ten miles an hour on just how treacherous times were. The blank expression on his face made her mind up. He would never retain any of it. 

She continued on her work, interrupted every few minutes by an observation out his mouth, eager to rid herself of his bothersome company if for a minute when the head of house stepped in through the portrait hole, heaving the students into full attention. 

Professor McGonagall wore flowing velvet robes. Little spectacles balanced delicately atop her nose. She had long grey curls that were kept back in a taut swirl. Often times she preferred a hat to a bare head.

She was a stern witch. A by-the-book professor. Hermione adored her. The professor was everything she hoped to be as a muggleborn witch. 

Hermione pinched the slouching Ron to full attention when the professor stepped inside.

“Miss Granger, I understand it is Gryffindor’s week for hall patrol,” the firm voice said. 

She nodded. “Yes, professor.”

It was formal but endearing, the way Professor McGonagall spoke. 

“I expect your other responsibilities will be tended to before then,” McGonagall stated as she adjusted the rim-less pieces of glasses off her nose. “I admit it is a handsome specimen, but Prefect duties cannot be neglected.”

Hermione twisted her face in confusion. “Specimen, professor?”

The elderly witch looked at her companion. “Didn’t Mister Weasley tell you? You had a delivery up from Hogsmeade today. Quarter til noon, I’d say.”

A pained look crossed Ron’s face. He gave a look of apology.

“I forgot. You got a package from Hogsmeade.”

“Thank you, Ronald. I’ve heard,” she said flatly.

She hadn’t ordered anything. Not from Hogsmeade. Her parents made sure she was quite prepared before the term started. They were the pinnacle of preparedness. Mum never left home without a sack full of items to be used in an emergency. Dad had every tool known to man in the back of his little car, ready for a flat tire. It was a running joke. He’d never had to use any since he bought them. 

Professor McGonagall was also unimpressed with Ron’s timing. 

“I sure hope you do well to remember your studies, Mister Weasley, better than you remember your friends,” she declared. “Transfiguration has a great many of exams this term.”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Hermione raced to her dorm to find what had been delivered. It was sure to be an accident. Perhaps Lavender ordered a robe from the local shop. Although it wouldn’t explain the wrong name on the label. 

There upon her feather down comforter of burgundy was a silver box. White roses laid between the shimmer of silver, just barely visible to the eye. It was subtle. She liked it very much.

A small hole was cut through each side of the box. How odd.

What good would a hole do? Surely things would fall out from the inside thus defeating the purpose of a box at all.

Hermione yanked the top away from the body, and revealed a white bodied creature stretched across the bottom. A pair of ice blue eyes blinked, unperturbed by her intrusion, and rose to its feet.

The cat. Malfoy’s cat.

She fell to her bed with a groan. Nothing was her way. Not in the slightest did her life resemble something of her design. A bit of driftwood battered by the sharp edges of the sea without hope for steady land ever again.

The box moved. She yelped loudly when the cat appeared next with a bit of parchment in its mouth.

“Give me that,” she snipped.

It did as it was told. Her eyes widened with shock, unable to believe that it truly listened. 

Oh right, she reminded herself, enchanted. 

The envelope held a picture. It was dark and murky but looked as though it was a picture of a cat. A fluffy brown cat perched atop a green bedspread, black embroidery shredded in its claws. The two orange eyes looked devious. It batted at the camera as the picture was captured. 

The note explained more.

_Fair is fair, pet. I’ve named mine Khaleesi, for her temper and righteous manner are worthy of a queen’s name. Think of a regal name for yours. He has the protected heart of a dragon, not unlike someone else you know. _

The faintest smile ghosted across her lips. 

Blue eyes watched her closely as she came close and offered a scratch behind the neck. 

“What do you say to the name, Drogon?”

It purred. 

“Very well. Drogon it is.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ thank you to all who have supported this work. I read your comments and I appreciate the feedback. I feel that I should take time out to say that I have labeled this fic with a Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger relationship. That is not a surprise. If you do not support the relationship, feel it is unrealistic, or in some other way does it trigger you, please avoid this fic. There are a great many fictions out there that do not include Slytherins and Draco Malfoy. I can recommend if you need help finding some. I understand that there are aspects of this fic that are perhaps OOC. However, I have written many Dramione (Draco/Hermione) stories. There are different inspirations behind them, and none of the same in the least. So please, don't become so hateful in comments because you do not like this fic. It is just an idea I elaborate on, and if some people like to read it, then great. If not, that's fine too. _

# CHAPTER 7

#### Amusements on Patrol

Hermione ran down the staircase double time. She was late. For Prefect patrol.

After finding an enchanted cat on her bed, a present from Malfoy, whom she named Drogon, she spent the rest of her time moving the cat into the dorm with a long outline of the rules. She guessed that there was some base line for what the cat could understand. 

At first, she had been on time. The first time she left Gryffindor Tower.

But, Drogon somehow managed to escape the confines of the dormitory and the common room and snuck out into the halls after her. She noticed a white tail curled against a statue and had to turn around to deliver the cat back where it belonged.

She hated to admit it, but she loved the little thing. It was so intelligent. It just responded in ways that were human-like. However, when she’d let her stress overpower her in a moment of weakness, Drogon curled against her chest and purred loud enough to vibrate her heart. It was so adorable she couldn’t return him. 

Not after the way he shook his head ‘no’ once and she nearly peed her pants in excitement. 

The fourth-floor Prefects bathroom came into view as she rounded a corner. Her pace slowed. Apology on her tongue, she discovered a troubling fact that frayed her nerves: Padma was not around. She looked down both corridors and all around. There was no sign of the Ravenclaw witch.

It was not like a Ravenclaw to be late. Especially not a prefect. 

She tapped her foot impatiently, checking the time again. They should be on their rounds by now.

The castle turned dark when curfew came. Prefects and hall monitors required wands to see. It was not easy to check every nook and cranny in an ancient, huge castle in the pitch black, but they did what they could. Plenty were caught after hours. 

Hermione had deducted points students for the infraction before. Even taken some from her own house! It was Fred and George who were out late, no doubt up to their mischief. She’d been embarrassed to find them yet again in trouble for something a first year understood perfectly well: stay in after curfew. 

She readied herself for patrol alone when a shuffle caught her ear. It came from a blackened hall behind her. 

“Lumos.”

Wand at the ready, she walked toward the noise ready to reprimand anyone out after hours.

It was high, thrill, pure adrenaline. Hermione found that brilliant feeling intoxicating when it came to patrol. Some many emotions of hers were heightened. The disadvantage of some senses, mainly her sight, gave way to the strength of others which, in her mind, made her into a witchy, female version of Daredevil. 

Her magic was coiled. At any moment was it ready to strike.

Just as she passed a balcony, her body was roughly grabbed and pulled into night air. Fingers clamped across her mouth. She was pinned against a body, unable to swing her arm to cast a spell. They scuffled around as she tried to rip her body out of the hold, but the person was much larger than her. Their long limbs had her beat. 

Thrill and fear shot through her all at once. Everything was on high. Her will to live, her will to fight, that pounding, mind numbing, disorienting yet sharpening way her thoughts twisted in a panicked brain. It kept the fight alive. She was not done. A Muggle did not stop when they were disarmed. They just got creative.

One arm held her head steady, mouth clamped shut so shouts for help would be unheard. Smart. The other long arm reached across her chest and both her arms. It locked her in a rigid position. They were strong. Air in her lungs deflated a little from such force. The discomfort from it was momentarily distracting, the pain against her ribs a frustrating sensation to forget about, that the attacker and her were pressed together taut. 

It was lost in the moment of her struggles, but she was pretty sure she felt something against her back that was very flustering. A wizard, for certain. 

She managed to stomp on his feet and fall to the ground, twisting to her side and wand pointed in front of her when the hazy blue light revealed a Malfoy smirk, accompanied by the rest of him.

She groaned. “What are you doing? I’m supposed to be on patrol.”

“I know,” he said. “With Patil.”

“I could write you up for that.”

Hermione brushed off her robes. The filth of the balcony made her frustrated as she beat the fabric. Her body still felt the high, the thudding of her emotions near the peak.

“Scourify,” she muttered as she fingered the flowing fabric, ensuring every morsel, crumble, and fragment fled her uniform. 

After she’d done so, her thoughts started to fire again. 

“Hang on,” she muttered. “How did you know I was supposed to be with Padma? I only found out earlier today.”

“I make a point of knowing.”

Her wand jumped to his face. “What did you do to her? Did you hurt her?”

Malfoy’s glare turned fatally frigid. “I told you you’d never be free of me, pet.”

He started to walk away. She raced after him through the empty halls of Hogwarts. His pace was swifter. To the credit of his long legs, she worked double time to keep up.

“I call bullshit, Malfoy. You wouldn’t risk expulsion by hurting someone just to get to me. That’s what you’ve got your followers and your cats for.”

“So, you got him then?” He asked.

It was a total 180-degree spin of his personality. From fatally cold to a peaked interest, change in tone and a bit of life ignited in his eye.

The years of Hogwarts had been productive. She learned a vast knowledge of just about everything they offered to teach. There were a great many things she learned out of classroom, too. One of those was that Draco Malfoy was an expressionless statue, more obsessed with his appearance and importance than his substance.

His change was not unnoticed, nor did it settle her adrenaline. Instead, it pumped harder. Sensations rose up all around her in lieu of his presence. The cool of the air as it moved very slowly through the castle, the soft hug of her cardigan under her robes, her exposed legs under her skirts and the way they rubbed together. All of it flooded her mind. She was unable to think.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Did you name him?”

He shifted the weight from his one leg to the other, bringing him closer to her body. Adrenaline coursed through every vein like a drug in bloody destruction. 

“It’s Drogon.”

Just like that, Draco walked off again. He stalked through the corridor, stopped at the Prefect bath to inspect as one would normally do on patrol, and eventually wandered up to the next floor. Hermione followed, close to boiling the longer he ignored her.

It had to stop. 

The madness he brought her, and to everyone near her, had to stop.

Hermione grabbed at his robe and pulled him to halt. “What have you done?”

He tensed under the grip. It made a shiver of fear course through her bones strong enough to drop her hand instantaneous whilst peaking the thrill even higher. The emotions so close to the surface, she wasn’t certain what she’d do: curse him or respect him.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes full of menace, taking a deliberate step closer. 

“What is it that you’ve done, Granger? That is what entertains my thoughts now. What has my little pet done to illicit such an urge out of me to never let her out of my sight? Hm?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. And you’re being ridiculous. I’m not your pet.” She squared her shoulders with his as a broad shield. It would end. He would see reason. “You’re bored. That’s all. You just want some way to stimulate yourself with a game to get back at Harry or something.”

“This isn’t about Potter.”

“Of course, it’s about Harry. It always is.”

She was backed against a wall. One of his arms rested against the stone just beside her head. It trapped her in his gaze, unable to turn away from the prickling chill. Gray storms coursed through his body. His jaw was set firm. 

Her body felt very much the same as his. Tense in every way.

She flinched when he raised his hand. Prepared for pain she thought of England and the good of the world, but all he did was roughly brush aside a bunch of curls. 

An opening to hurt her without consequence and he’d opted not to.

As much as she fought against it because it was the disgusting white ferret that bullied her nonstop for years until he took a sudden change of heart and enslaved her instead, Hermione’s heart thudded with something. It kept her tongue at bay. She wanted to know what was inside his head.

Ginny’s thoughts, as absurd as they were, echoed around her mind.

“Not this time, Granger. It is about you,” he said. “This is not some silly game for Potty to fret about. I imagine he has plenty of his mind at the moment. No, you are all I see. I’ve got big plans for you.”

Plans. _Plans._ How Slytherin of him!

A picture of Terry entered her thoughts the next moment. He warned her of such generalizations. 

Slytherin wizards were not inherently evil; she knew Malfoy was not. No matter how menacing he wanted to be, his distaste for true cruelty made her second guess his intentions. He would not kill her. Truthfully, he hadn’t ever really hurt her. 

She was the one who initiated their interactions previous years, and it was his tongue that worked just as fast as hers that left her feelings insulted. Insults. Words. Those were the cheapest shot he could take.

He had hexed her, once. By accident. The teeth enlarging hex was meant for Harry or Ron. She’d gotten in the way.

Hermione turned to a statue in his presence. It was a life shattering train of thought that brought her to that point about Draco Malfoy. Bonkers. No, it couldn’t be. 

He was not being nice to her! Malfoy was not a nice person.

Confusion pulled his face in a slight recoil. “What?”

“What did I do,” she questioned, “that’s made you so angry?”

“The terms,” he spat swiftly back. “You broke them. Again.”

Thoughts of anger were default when it came to Malfoy. They leapt up without much enticement, ready to sling a hex or whipping insult to her precious self-esteem at a moment’s notice when needed. Hermione focused her mind to regroup. New information left it all a puzzle. 

How? Just how?

It took her a minute to steel away the frustration to calm.

“I don’t understand,” she answered as calmly as possible. 

“You just can’t help yourself,” he growled. It was angrier than he had been the moment before.

She frowned. “Honestly. I don’t understand. Tell me. Just tell me what makes you so angry at me.”

“You’ve got the nerve to see another wizard, behind my back, when I asked for nothing but one thing. No other wizards. Higgs is included in that little group, Granger.” The volume of his voice made her eyes bulge. It was supposed to be quiet after curfew. With their luck, a professor would come investigate and find them. “Can’t you see I’m much better than him?”

His face was so close. The emotion pouring off his flesh was palpable. She felt the bruise of his ego in his expression. It was not angry; it was insult.

He was jealous that she actually liked Terry. Not him.

Her jaw dropped. 

“I didn’t know,” she breathed.

“Don’t make me feel like this again,” he said just as softly as she.

Before she understood, his lips pressed against hers. 

Her wand dropped from her hand as Malfoy’s lips brought warmth to her entire face, alive with tingles, like a thousand small fireworks exploded through her flesh. It felt like nothing before. The connection grew firmer. Her eyes shuttered close in complete awe. It didn’t matter that she was pressed hard against a cold stone wall in the middle of the night when other things required her. 

A party of shimmering lights danced behind closed lips as she pictured his lips against hers, a flash of his pale torso stretched against her length in teasing excitement as the look of complete jealousy overtook him. 

He’d been jealous. Jealous of her attention.

A deep-stirred tension grew in her belly. It sucked all her thoughts. She felt hot, juicy spasms course through her body like a tidal wave of delight, not unlike rage, but as it met her chest with caressing touch, she felt her nipples raise in response. Her cheeks heated; she was aroused.

Need flew from his parted lips into hers. The slippery, wet feeling of his tongue at her entrance, ready to explore parts left exiled and forgotten. 

For a moment, she considered it. But it was a moment too long.

A booming clatter shook the ceiling above their heads. They retracted from their kiss in gasping breaths and stared.

It was a surreal. She questioned whether it was real, until the noise happened again. 

Hermione grabbed her wand, dropped all thoughts of Malfoy and headed toward the stairs to catch whomever was out of bed. She believed she the only one, until Draco brushed against her on the way. He had his wand in his hand, not firmly gripped. Rather, it dangled from his fingers.

“Probably just Peeves,” he said.

It was. He’d brought down the entire trophy room. Every brass, gold, and silver trophy given to Hogwarts was on the floor. 

The ghost was giddily happy with his mischief. Especially when the caretaker, an old man named Filch, came across the mess and accused Hermione and Draco of creating it as a prank.

Draco was not in the mood to deal with the man. “We’re prefects, you cretin.”

Filch was a filthy, foul-mouthed man. He detested students in a curious manner considering his position at a school. The man was unable to wield magic. A Squib. It made him fouler to those who used magic to create damage he was expected to repair without. 

He was Fred and George’s favorite staff member to taunt. They took advantage of the opportunity whenever possible, which made Filch even more foul toward Gryffindors. 

Although the man was still suspicious, Professor Snape came to confirm, a great annoyance by the way his face twisted into a scowl when he saw the two, that Draco and Hermione were, indeed, prefects (he did not trust their badges not being stolen). He stood in the face of Filch’s grumbling about the mess, pesky children making messes for him, and the like.

A simple wave of the room levitated the trophies all to their assigned perches. Snape was tired with the interaction. He appeased the caretaker so he might scurry off to his other business, which is what he did.

It was Snape’s turn to take interest in the two found as the scene of the crime.

“Mister Malfoy. I am surprised to see you on Gryffindor’s week of patrol,” he drawled in his low, monotone voice. “Mister Weasley indisposed?”

“No, sir. Padma was,” Hermione answered.

He snapped attention to the little Gryffindor with irritation clouding his eyes. “Miss Granger. Everyone’s favorite prefect. Though I’d expect a Prefect to know better than interrupt a private conversation.”  
Snape regarded her a moment longer then turned to Draco.

“Miss Patil?” He echoed.

“The Ravenclaw fell suddenly ill,” Draco smirked. “I took her place.”

“Sudden, indeed. Why, I just saw Miss Patil this afternoon.” The professor raised a dense brow. “She was the model of health.”

Hermione felt coldness take her. 

She had seen Padma. The witch had been normal then, too.

Malfoy did something. Something, bad.

Her jaw clicked shut as Draco conversed with the professor a bit longer before he bored of the conversation and sent them on their way to check the castle. Her body was a space heater turned furnace when the wizard had the gall to ask her about her studies in good spirit. 

Only friends could do that.

They kept their wands drawn as they traipsed through the blackened halls. The light of their combined Lumos was enough to ignite a great portion of space in front of them.

“My potions essay? That’s what you want to talk about?” Her knuckles turned white against the walnut wood of her wand. Cramps sprang up toward her wrists.

He snarled but quieted a second later. “Fine. What would you rather discuss?”

“What you’ve done to Padma!” She exclaimed, turning her wand on him. “Did you hurt her?”

Draco rolled his eyes and swatted the light from his face. “Don’t be thick, pet. Even I know my limits.”

“Do you?” She growled.

Limits? Limits. He’d blackmailed her and hexed Harry loads of times. He played dirty in Quidditch. He bullied those younger or weaker than him. There was no limit to which he wouldn’t stoop.

“I convinced the witch to switch with me, that’s all.” He clicked his tongue in correction. It felt a laugh at her. She was losing her marbles, slowly and painfully, until reality would be nothing but an apparition in her mind. Draco pointed his wand into a cranny that held a hidden alcove. “Quidditch starts next week. I want to be well-rested. Or so I said.”

“So you lied.”

“A shock it must be to you, Granger, but no. Not technically.” He brushed a cobweb off his collar. “Matches do start next week. I’m just not as worried about my rest schedule as I led her to believe. Speaking of Quidditch, I expect you to attend.”

The way he emphasized it made it a request, not a simple little remark. He wanted her there. To watch. Him? Or Slytherin? It didn’t matter. 

“But…you told Professor Snape that she got sick.”

“Come on, Granger. You aren’t entirely honest with all your professors, are you?” His eyes scanned her face before rolling dramatically. “Course you are,” he sighed. “Snape would have had my hide for just simply asking to switch.”

They went back to patrolling in total silence. It came to mind that she should try to work quicker than him so that they might separate, but he was just as fast as her.

It made things intense. They’d kissed. Malfoy and she! No one would believe it.

Hermione swallowed a bit of suspicion in that thought. If no one believed it, there was no way to confirm it was real. Another level of disbelief topped with question. What was the point of the game other than to drive her mad?

Is that what he hoped for? Harry depended on her for much. A broken friend was not such an asset to possess during a war. More a liability.

A nearby secret passageway was patrolled very frequently by Filch, but she decided to check it out herself. It was dank. The very air was a breath of mold. She fought through the cobwebs and slippery stones until she was satisfied that no one had entered in a long while.

Draco and she continued their patrol in silence until early hours came and their replacement took over. Professor Filtwick thanked them for their service, waved them away with his wand and skipped on his way back to patrol.

They walked back to the dormitories, still in eerie quiet, until two little figures appeared in their path.

“Drogon!” She gasped when she spied the pale creature seated in the center of the corridor.

The other cat meowed and rushed to greet her owner, Draco. She brushed against his pants legs. Long brown hairs deposited against his slacks to his irritation.

Hermione giggled as he tried to get the cat away from his slacks. “Looks like she’s warmed up to you.”

“It took her a minute,” he answered. 

Khaleesi was a mess of brown hair. No matter how many times he vanquished the evidence of her, they reappeared the next second when she’d flick her tail or rub against him with joy.

It was more endearing when he pointed his wand at her to reprimand her with a stern voice. Her little paws swung at the wood like it was a game, not concerned in the least.

Hermione bit back her smile.

Drogon was more collected. He approached Hermione at his leisure. He would then sit and wait for his affection with patience. The otherwise large eyes turned into crescent moons when she scratched behind his head.

She glanced back at Draco and Khaleesi. He finally relented to her overflowing affection to his clothing.

“Why did you buy them?” She asked. “What is their purpose?”

He cleared his throat. “Well the plan was for _one_. One cat that would go between the pair of us. So that I might be able to keep tabs on you when you were out of reach.”

She sighed. Drogon was a spy. Like Crabbe and Goyle, her followers. 

“This game of yours isn’t going to work,” Hermione stated softly. “You can’t possibly stalk me all year long. It will lose its appeal once you realize that all I do is study and go to class. There are no secrets to learn. No business that might help you. Nothing.”

Drogon led the way back to Gryffindor Tower, as Draco and Khaleesi followed behind alongside one another. She wondered in Draco had given the cat instructions before gifting him. 

Enchanted cats were vastly unstudied. The limit of their understanding was not known. Could a cat be a double agent?

“We’ll see,” was his only answer.

It was a quiet walk until the junction of where they parted. Hermione went up, Draco was expected down. Slytherin stayed in the dungeons. 

His pace slowed as he realized it. 

Drogon had gone up a few stairs, waiting his master to follow, while Khaleesi remained right at Draco’s side. They were complete opposite personalities. One reserved, one outgoing and playful.

Hermione refused to ask for Draco’s permission to leave. It was not right.

She was not his pet.

Hermione felt a hand stop her before the first step.

“Remember the terms, pet.” Draco was surprisingly close again. His chest was up against her back. “Stay away from Higgs.”

Tension filled the air. It felt just as it had when they kissed.

Breath caught in her chest, refusal of oxygen until the moment passed. She struggled to mouth out any response. She nodded. 

Wizards. She didn’t need any wizards. There were plenty in her life already. It was not an agreement if she did it on her own. Of course, it was only a suggestion from Malfoy. She was at liberty to choose otherwise.

“Drogon, make sure she makes it to her bed safely.”

The white cat remained motionless, so much so that it would easily pass as a plush toy. The only indication it gave was the occasional blink.

Drogon blinked slowly, turned around and hopped up the next two steps.

He was a gift for her. Not Draco. Draco’s cat was Khaleesi.

If he thought he could just command her cat, she’d do the same.

“And be sure to mark all his clothes, Khaleesi. Make sure everyone knows he’s _your_ owner.”


	8. Chapter 8

# CHAPTER 8

### Reconnect

Hermione woke to a gentle paw placed against her nose. It was early. Light had yet to blare in golden shimmer from the curtains. She blinked once, then twice.

The pale body of Drogon sat in her direct vision. His large eyes, wide and ever watchful.

“Good morning,” she greeted softly as she allowed her mind to acclimate to the waking state. It hurt to awaken from deep sleep so suddenly. Her palms dug into her eye sockets.

Drogon sat patiently, watching her ready herself in a clean outfit and other morning routines, with the onlooking observation that made her heart feel loved and self-conscious at the same time. It was a cat. He couldn’t talk. But, the way his mind was enchanted smarter than the rest, it was not impossible for it to judge. 

She made sure to brush her teeth for three and a half minutes rather than the standard three.

Just in case.

Hermione was considering what to do with her day when a cat meowed. It’d been so silent within the dorm that her hold on the bed faltered.

She smoothed the wrinkles out of her jumper. “I didn’t realize you talked.”

His head tilted slightly.

A thick band of black rhinestones rested against his neck. He sported it very proudly. His little cat chest pushed it out on display as she ran her fingertips along the edges of the jewels. Her mind, a mess of thoughts. 

Draco was wealthy, extravagant for no purpose, and he loved to display the fact. It was possible that the jewels of the cat collar were real.

She toyed with the idea of removing it as it was completely ridiculous to have a cat adorned in priceless jewels when children starved and suffered in the world, except Drogon loved it. He was her cat. Her dependent. Removing the item would be a cruel punishment for the creature just to spite a wizard.

Another victory to Malfoy.

“Meow!” He said again.

She stared at him quizzically. “What are you saying?”

A princess’s prerogative, conversations with animals, was not as easy as it seemed. Subtle moves meant significant features. A simple tail flick could mean irritation, a warning of danger, perhaps a sign of recognition as a makeshift wave. 

There was so much guesswork since they hadn’t really secured a code yet.

Hermione wringed her hands tirelessly. The cat was saying something. He wanted her to know. 

But what was it?

He waited patiently as she guessed.

“Have I forgotten an assignment? Did Lavender step on you? Is it Harry? Ron? Ginny? Oh! The twins. They’ve hurt someone, haven’t they?”

Drogon shook his head to each answer.

Finally, after much waiting, he started to claw at the edge of his collar. Aggressively. She watched the creature struggle with the thick collar at its neck like a noose, pulling it tighter and tighter against its neck with such force. 

Perhaps he didn’t like it…

She reached out to help Drogon when a little slip of parchment slipped from beneath it, and the cat moved back to sitting, looking down at the paper as if interested in what it read.

The author was Draco, no doubt.

“Did you go see him?”

Being suspicious of a cat was a very mixed emotion in itself. On one hand, it was a bloody cat. On the other was the fact that it was a highly intelligent animal capable of many unknown things. She had to proceed with caution. 

Drogon indicated no.

“Then…how?”

His tail snapped front. The slender white tail hung mid-air, rippling like waves of an ocean, where at the tip rested two long brown hairs.

Khaleesi.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

He seemed to share the same sentiment, which eased her tension. She unrolled the thin parchment where an elegant scrawl waited for her. It was very clearly Draco’s. No other wizard was as committed to perfect handwriting as the self-important Slytherin.

Walk. After breakfast. Meet by Pendulum. Don’t be late.

She scoffed. “Not a single question mark. He doesn’t ask me. He tells me. Instructs. I have half a mind to…ignore it altogether.”

After the night before with their kiss, whatever it was, he hadn’t the decency to be kind to ask her. Rather demand from her. Like a prisoner, like a…pet.

Drogon agreed with her. He reached across the page and allowed his claws to shred the note to nothing. She smiled, vanquishing the remains, and petting the creature down its spine. 

“What shall we do instead?” She asked. 

He leapt up to a shelf over her bed. The cat just barely fit with all the items arranged in neat piles. Completed assignments, books, extra parchment and ink, a few muggle notepads for when she wrote her parents. But Drogon climbed at the very top of the stacks, steadied his feet, and swatted a novel down to her mattress below.

She ran her fingers along the old leather spine. It was one of her favorite books, one that her grandmother gifted to her just before the start of her first year at Hogwarts.

“Bleak House.” The smell of the book was divine. It transported her back to the Hogwarts library where she hunkered down one blistery weekend and read the entire thing cover to cover. “This shall do it. Come on then. We’ve got a full day ahead of us.”

They set up in the common room. She chose a secluded corner with a plump armchair for their little reading nook, happy to offer her shoulder as a resting spot for Drogon as she read. He snuggled his face against hers. The soft hum of his chest helped her nerves calm as she cracked open the beloved novel, ready for release from the stresses of Hogwarts. If only for a little while.

A crowd of late risers of Gryffindor Tower descend from their dormitories off toward the Great Hall in time for their breakfast while Hermione chose to continue reading.

If Draco saw her at breakfast, he’d send the two oafs to corral her into his company.

He spent much of his time more fascinated with watching her than he did instigating Harry and Ron into petty arguments, though. That was a change. The wizard hardly took his eyes off her. Harry and Ron might prance through the halls in nothing but their socks, and Malfoy might not notice. 

Her movements were, apparently, much more interesting. 

Then she remembered their kiss and the whole conundrum came flooding back toward her like a raging bull at a matador’s cape. Godric! How had that kiss even happened? Why did it feel so good in the moment? What made that moment even happen?

Well, there were Terry’s words in her head. “Don’t judge a Slytherin just by his house colors alone.” That. That was the insane start to the moment where it felt right to let Draco kiss her in the middle of the bloody hall like some fickle tart so dazzled by a rich handsome wizard. 

Granted, the bit of his jealousy was nice. If she was being honest. Only in the sake of being transparent with herself so she might understand did she admit that Draco’s jealousy over her company made her a mite happy. 

No, happy was too much. Flattered fit better.

Hermione was slightly flattered that he thought of her enough to be jealous of whom she spent her time with. As if it was ever with someone who hasn’t one of her best friends! Harry, Ron, Ginny. That was it.

That wasn’t quite true, though, was it? Terry was becoming a recurrent figure in her life. Not by any fault of her own. It made Draco furious when the wizard talked to her, which was not under her control. He helped himself. She barely knew Terry Higgs, even now. 

Should she trust him? Should she like him? 

He was a Slytherin, which meant that no matter how much he tried, she’d be leery of his motives. But his looks. They made her body in raptures under his attention. Much to her dismay.

“Mione?”

She looked up from the pages. “Yeah?”

“You’ve got a cat on your shoulder,” Ginny stated. 

The common room was empty except for Neville and Ginny at one of the wizard’s chess boards with pieces all scattered about the place. As she observed, yet another piece pushed another off. The piece held onto the edge of the board with all its might until it finally fell, shattered to bits on the table. 

Hermione rubbed her forehead. “I know. He’s mine.”

The cat knowingly climbed down from its perch. It opted for a space on the armrest, frozen in place like a statue seated toward her friends, examining them carefully. Drogon took his time with people. He never approached until he was ready with great persuasion. He avoided her dorm mates. Any time he heard Lavender, he slinked back to protection underneath Hermione’s bed until she was gone.

“You got another cat without telling me?” Ginny asked. The words came out of her throat almost as though she didn’t believe them. Her tongue moved as a lazy fish as it moved with each sound, gently clicking at the very end. “Did you just have to have him?”

If she only knew.

Hermione nodded. “Something like that.”

“Even after Crookshanks?”

She rose up from her chair. Her eyes burned. She’d stared at the open pages of her novel too long without blinking. The dense dust of old books stung. 

A familiar blur clouded her eyesight as she approached the two others. She forced a sad smile.

“It was time,” Hermione said. “I need a familiar.”

It settled her friend back in her seat. “What’s his name? If it is a he. Merlin, Hermione. What else are you going to spring on us this term?”

That was the ultimate question, wasn’t it?

How much would Draco force her to endure before he released her from his weird obsession? 

But then. He wouldn’t be so attentive anymore. Draco would turn back to Malfoy. He’d be that bitter, hateful, awful wizard from Slytherin who hated her guts. A small piece of her ached at that thought. He’d no longer be…tolerable. No longer, her acquaintance. 

Hermione released that sadness with a sigh. “Can we talk about something important? I’ve gotten some ideas for what we might do during our training. Once we find our space, of course. Do either of you know where we can practice? I’ve tried. All I can think of is the Shrieking Shack, but Harry said it’s too small. But what other place is there?”

“Well I - .”

“Morning Hermione,” Ron greeted with a warm smile.

He was back from breakfast along with Harry. The pair of them were in better spirits. For once, the bags underneath their eyes weren’t so dark like bruises from a long night of fighting sleep. It lifted her heart.

Harry opened his arms for an embrace. One that she received greedily. “Good morning.”

The shimmer back in Harry’s eye reignited that bloom in her chest that made her content at Hogwarts. Her friend was back. He was better. 

“Morning.” Her voice sang with more emotion than it had all term.

The two stood near one another, a reflection of the others face. Being a trio again felt like home. It was bliss. Harry had been kind to her when no one else had. Not even Ronald. 

That was years ago. She forgave Ron’s loud mouth as she often did because of his uncanny ability to say the wrong thing near the wrong person. Harry, not the least bit shy of his feelings, was gentler in his ways. He cared. They hadn’t even known each other that night before the troll. She’d been so focused on impressing the other peers so that she might be accepted as a witch that she hadn’t taken the time to consider another Muggle-raised friend as an ally.

She was grateful for the connection they both had to the wizarding and muggle world.

“Hey. There’s the little guy.” 

Ron reached out toward Drogon whom was still perched on the arm of the chair in his quiet company which made him invaluable as a familiar. The white cat eyed the wizard with pause. A look on consideration crossed the cat’s face, almost as if he was not convinced of the intentions of a friendly scratch. It very much reminded her of a humanlike characteristic rather than a cats.

Drogon was very different from the other animals of Gryffindor. The colors of their house and personalities were warmer tones, browns and reds and gold. The entire common room was a retch of those colors swirled together. 

Stark white was not of the Gryffindor. Not even as a pet. Hedwig was the only other white pet of a Gryffindor. She was beautiful and graceful but appeared more of a Ravenclaw or Slytherin type pet, cool and collected, smooth and stoic as those houses were.

Hermione watched on as she realized Drogon would have been a great match for Draco’s house rather than hers, but the connection she felt with the thoughtful animal already told her that he was the perfect fit. He aligned with her soul.

Surprising all of the friends, Ron collected Drogon within his arms as one would a small infant and carried him near. Not once did the cat extend its claw, to Hermione’s great relief because if another one of her animals disliked Ronald that would ring as a pattern rather than a terrible coincidence, but he kept his paws against Ron’s bicep in case a bit of mischief was done against Drogon’s approval.

“He’s a beaut,” Ron said. 

His sister wrinkled her nose. “Thought you hated cats.”

“I don’t hate cats, you nutter.” He was utterly astonished at the accusation. “I just hated _her_ cat. The devil, he was. Always scratched at me. Grumpy thing. Not like this one. Oh you like a good rubbing, don’t you? Oi, Mione. What’s his name?”

It warmed her heart the way he cradled her cat and snuggled him close. Drogon was not openly reciprocal with feelings, however, he remained pleasant and tolerant of the affection.

Perhaps she’d been wrong about Ron. There were a great many qualities that were endearing, things that always warmed her heart when they didn’t give her a headache. He was a simple wizard. He wore his emotions very close to the surface. That was nice. She never had to guess what he was after, if he was manipulating her or just being untruthful. 

Yet, the feelings that Terry Higgs sparked were stronger, more mature. It was not the way she cared about Ron. It was stronger. She wanted to drag her fingers across his body and discover if he was as muscular as he seemed in his uniform.

She quickly shook the startling thought out her head.

Crushes were frivolous. 

There was no reason to like anybody. Romance was beyond importance. She needed to focus on her studies and her friends and doing what she could to save the world from a dark wizard.

“Drogon,” she replied.

“After the dragon?” Ginny asked.

Finally, Harry made his debut of interest within the conversation. “A dragon named Drogon. That’s brilliant.”

“Not just a dragon, Ginny. _Thee_ dragon. The king of all dragons,” Ron answered with a bit of awe. “He’s the father of all dragons. They say he was the strongest ever seen, able to burn an entire city down to the ground. Back in the old days, you know. When dragons weren’t such a fright as they are now.”

Drogon relented his resistance over Ron’s friendly pets; his eyes turned to crescents. He purred and rubbed his head closer, not allowing Ron to stop the attention. Ron just chuckled and continued on.

“A little simple, isn’t it? The name.” Small glasses fell to the edge of Harry’s nose. He pushed them back up with his pointer finger. “A dragon named Drogon. It isn’t imaginative. Sounds like a rubbish fairy tale.”

“Magical history has been closely documented, Harry. Drogon was a real dragon. He fathered many dragons in his time which eventually led to the creation of the modern species we see today.” Hermione was fascinated by the history of the wizarding world. It was the first topic of research when she landed in the Hogwarts library with a great thirst. It was quenched by books larger than her torso filled with illustrations of ancient times, the start of the split of magic and non-magic people, historical figures and ancient history. Of this topic, she was very familiar. “Drogon was the personal pet of the queen who settled these lands for wizards and witches. He was named after a long lost lover of hers. Drogo. She lost him to an injury unable to be cured by magic. It was his death that encouraged her to overtake a stretch a land and create a haven for all magical peoples and beings.”

Harry scratched his head. “Oh. Uh, really?”

“The start of The Split,” Neville said softly. 

“What was that, Neville?”

Wizards chess was not an easy game. Many wizards were very experienced in the game, especially in Gryffindor house. Seamus Finnegan was exceptional, as was Ron. Not many stood a chance in a game against them.

Awkward, quiet and shy was an excellent way to describe the lanky Gryffindor wizard. He sweated through shirts during Potions class, stuttered when called upon by Snape, jumped at any sudden noise and lost at wizard’s chess to everyone. 

That morning he’d asked Ginny to help him learn to play a better game so that he might beat Ron.

“The Split,” Neville reiterated.

The expression upon Harry’s face remained blank. “The split of what?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “People, Harry. The Split is when wizards and witches divided themselves away from muggles to protect themselves. Magic became rare. Only certain families were seemingly blessed with it, and it made others jealous. Nervous. So, The Split happened.”

Tired of the history lesson, the Gryffindors moved on to more lighter subjects. They positioned themselves around the open fire of the Tower, happy to be merry in each other’s presence elevated by the emerging excitement of their new dueling club, or training. It depended upon on who was asked.

Hermione considered it training. She hadn’t the time for optional clubs.

Training was an entire matter altogether. That was necessary. Not only was it imperative for their education, the tides of the world were risen to the height of fear. Voldemort was back. Everyone needed preparation for the storm.

Time passed. Troubles erased from her mind. 

She hadn’t the time to think of Draco Malfoy and their kiss, or Terry Higgs and his confusing friendship. Not when she finally had the time to talk to her best friends without their moody negativity. Her ‘friendship’ with Malfoy was not even discussed. Shockingly.

Harry sat on her one side, Ginny on the other. Ronald chose a nearby lounge chair, closer to the fire to warm his toes. Neville crossed his legs and sat right atop the rug at the center of their half circle. 

It was not long before Neville was pulled away from the group toward the other boys of the year. They made a point to ignore Harry and Ron. Neither cared. 

Ginny had plans with Michael, so she skipped away not too long after, only once Ron questioned the will to live out of her.

“For Godric’s sake Ron. It’s a walk, not a marriage proposal.” The red head gathered her straight locks into a messy bun. “What’s the worst that can happen on a walk?”

“Be petrified,” Hermione answered without thought.

“Be attacked by Harry’s godfather.”

“Encounter Voldemort sucking blood from a unicorn.”

Ron grabbed hold of each of Ginny’s shoulders. “Have loads of meat-eating spiders chase you through the forest and try to eat you.”

“Be framed by a disguised death eater into a deadly contest to resurrect - .”

“I get it!” Ginny exclaimed. “I get it. Alright? But what I meant was, what could happen to a _normal_ person on a walk. Not you three.”

She left through the portrait hole uninterested in their answers. It was very clear that trouble always found the three of them rather than any other student within the castle walls.

Ginny was safe from all that.

Ron grumbled for a while about Michael and his ‘slick’ moves. It was a requirement for an older brother. Hermione and Harry shared a small unconvinced look. Hot air. That was all that Ron was.

And just as quick as he started, Ron settled down again. He stretched out in his chair, ruffled his bright red hair, and stared out into dancing orange flame in a late morning daze. Hermione noticed his eyelids heavy nature. They slowed. Each blink became harder to fight.

The silence between Harry and Hermione felt sticky. Neither seemed to know what to do to alleviate it. Things were good between them, but strained.

Things were strained with Harry and the world, she believed. There was a great burden on Harry’s mind. Naturally, of course. He was the Chosen One. He was set to defeat Voldemort and save the world. That was a huge responsibility, pressure to be perfect. Hell, just pressure to survive.

It was not his fault that he was given that. But it was not hers either. 

Ron and Hermione gave nothing but undying support and still he treated them like everyone else. Like they didn’t believe him.

“Hermione.” His voice was soft, lost under the burly tones of Ronald’s snoring. 

She looked at Ron, startled yet amazed at how deep tones came from such a wizard. The gaping hole of his mouth was an abyss of darkness. His tongue drooped nearly to his collar as he slept. Eyes pinched tight in a line of red wispy eyelashes.

Hermione gently pushed his chin the other way to direct the snores at the window. “Suppose you’re used to that by now.”

“Oh. Yeah. I don’t notice it anymore. It’s white noise,” Harry said. “I miss it when I go back to the Dursley’s. Can’t sleep a few nights. Too quiet.”

She offered up a smile. It pained her to not relate. Homecoming from Hogwarts was a grand time that she enjoyed. The home she grew up in was a greater comfort than her school. Sleeping there was the safest she felt.

Drogon suddenly appeared at her side, scratching at his collar as he had that morning. 

Another note from Draco. 

Still, she focused upon her friend. There was a time and a place to deal with Draco’s mess. The one place that it did not reach was Gryffindor Tower. Not when her friends needed her.

“Ron is like that. Everyone just…misses him.”

“I miss you, too, Mione.” He touched her hand. “It may not feel like it. I haven’t been the best friend that I should. I’ve just been, struggling.”

She suddenly embraced him. “I know Harry. But we’re here for you. To struggle with.”

He chuckled as she retracted from the connection. 

“I’m beginning to see that,” he answered.

“You can’t give in. You have to fight him. Fight with everything you can.” She swallowed and lowered her voice. “That’s what Cedric would have wanted.”

“I know I just…I keep feeling like his death was my fault. I should have…I should have done more.”

She frowned. “It was a trap, Harry. You couldn’t have done anything differently.”

They fell to silence. 

Anyone did when Cedric was mentioned. His death was an open, bleeding, fresh, ragged wound that never ceased its red spill over feelings at Hogwarts. It was horrid. A talented wizard, a Hufflepuff, kind and strong, fiercely loyal, all that was good in the world, Cedric was. How could anyone stomach killing a Hufflepuff?

“I used to think that He couldn’t do much worse. Voldemort. He’d taken the two most important people away from me, the third wrongly imprisoned. He ruined my life.” Harry paused to wipe beneath his eyes. “But I was wrong. He did so much worse with Cedric.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG. If you read my other stories, you’ll know that I’ve moved across a few states, had a new baby, bought a house and moved (yet) again. My life became too crazy to keep up with some of my fanfics. I appreciate all the comments and the concern for the continuation. I promise these are not abandoned fics. Just so slowly being updated again. Thanks for the patience. I love all my readers and commenters and even the critiques. Thanks for keeping me full of confidence as I write these. It means the world. I never get such support for my actual published novels, so believe me when I say I am truly grateful.

### CHAPTER 9

#### Mythical Creatures

Hermione tossed out a note, unread, as she readied for patrol. It had been a great Sunday with her friends. She spent the rest of the afternoon with Harry and Ron, just as they used to always be. Her stomach hurt from all the laughing.  
Draco sent her two notes that afternoon. She had avoided him all day. Neither note was opened. She didn’t want the happy times with Harry to stop. It was a distant memory when she had a time with him that wasn’t soured with depression or irritation or withdrawn silence. Draco’s notes would have ruined it all.  
Now the reality that their night would be spent together twisted her nerves into a bundled knot, eager to just suffer through the pain and be done with his company once and for all. He’d be angry enough to admit defeat.   
Two braids rested at her shoulders, a dense pair of black leggings beneath her skirt and a pullover, and she was ready for her night in the cold castle. With him.   
Given the chance to rebond with her best friends, Hermione discovered a deeper resolve to resist Draco Malfoy’s attempts to force their acquaintance. He would see reason. Even if she was the one thrusting into down his throat. They could not continue. She was needed again, by her boys. There was no time for other time expenditures.  
She nibbled at some biscuits, then vanquished their existence in the form of their little crumbly crumbs all over her lap.   
Drogon helped himself to the other half on the table. The ginger snap was devoured in loud hacking bites. She rolled her eyes.  
“If you’d ask, I’d break it up for you.” She snickered as he continued to bite the biscuit to pieces. “One last pet, and I’ve got to go. Don’t wait up.”  
His ears perked, so did his head.   
It was something he’d done before. The night before. Just as she was getting ready to leave him the second time at Gryffindor Tower, he’d perked his head up, expecting something. She leaned down and gave him a little kiss.  
A sudden purr erupted on her leg. His head snuggled against her shoulder. Little ears pushed flat against his skull as he begged for affection.  
“Alright, alright. I’ve got to go,” she giggled. “Don’t want the tosspot getting angry.”  
She told her friends goodnight and climbed out the portrait hole onto the staircase. A night gust of cool air greeted her. The pullover did well to block out most of it, but still some slipped through the fibers.   
She kicked herself for not packing her snowsuit. On patrol, it’d help greatly.  
It was a gift from her parents for one of their holiday trips skiing in Switzerland. The entire thing was silvery and reflective in the brilliant white of mountain tops. Her parents almost adorned the puffy silver suites themselves to create a family of reflective marshmallows skiing down the slopes.   
Most holidays were spent with the Weasley’s now. And Harry.  
The castle was quiet as she walked through the long stretching corridors. It seemed larger in the black. Noises echoed kilometers without interruption. A chill shook her limbs. A night alone within a castle such as this frightened groups of Muggles, in fear of spirits and demons, and part of Hermione’s mind went straight for those ghosts stories that used to terrorize her dreams.  
Now the true fear was of something else.  
“So you are alive.” A cold voice shot through the darkness. It rattled her nerves. “Funny. My requests went unanswered today. Care to explain? Pet.”  
He spat the nickname out his mouth in discernable disgust.  
She was ready for his attacks. One breath was all she allowed before she replied, “No. Let’s start at the owlery. Then work our way back.”  
“Is that your command, pet?”  
He emerged from shadow of the corridor, ethereal in appearance and angelic in glow. As always. Frightening and beautiful. A deadly combination.  
“Still on with that pet business?” Hermione pushed a distance between the emotions of seeing him after their fueled patrol the night before. His face brought back the memory of her first kiss. It turned her cheeks a cherry red. She was so sure of resisting him earlier, but now, she wasn’t sure she could keep it up. “Thought you’d be tired of it by now.”  
She tossed a braid over her shoulder as she marched through the depths of Hogwarts in the direction of the isolated tower of the owlery. There was a rumbling growl behind her back.   
“You’ll do well to remember that a Slytherin’s primary trait is ambitious. They never give up getting what they want.” Draco suddenly appeared by her shoulder. “Have I gotten you yet?”  
She retracted away.  
“No. You’ll never get me.”  
“Then I’ll never stop.”  
“Fine,” she spat. “But don’t expect me to just bow down and allow you to treat me this way.”  
A hand clenched her bicep until sharp tears bubbled. “That is exactly what I expect. You’ll do well to remember that a place on my good side is where you should strive to be. There are things coming. Things you can’t even imagine.”  
Both breaths stopped.  
“What things?”  
“A pet mudblood sounds better than a departed one, don’t you think?”  
She gasped.  
Draco strode away. His wand shined brightly down the corridor toward the edge of the castle that lingered near a dark stretch of lawn before the tower of the owlery. It was that confident swagger he radiated through every orifice that brought her to a rage to witness.  
He’d threatened her, saved her life, insulted her, bought her gifts, kissed her, and threatened her again.  
None of it made sense!  
Hermione stormed after him, planted herself in front of him, and placed a palm against his chest as an impassable being in his path. “What the hell do you want from me? Are you doing this just for fun? Is it fun to torture me?”  
His brow furrowed. “Do I appear to be having fun?”  
“Well, no.”  
“Bravo. Finally! A statement worthy of the brightest witch of the age. Brilliant deduction. Are you an Auror?” He slipped past her block and continued into darkness.  
Their footsteps echoed against cold stone. It reflected the frigid, empty isolation that was their, for lack of a better word, bond.   
She followed, her own wand alight with blue shimmering clouds. It showed the exit. Beyond that stretched the haunted darkness of night in absence of a moon, a frightful trek in utter openness that seemed as vast as the world.   
As they exited the protection of Hogwarts, a burst of their warm bubble brought forth a quiver. Blistering winds whipped down the grounds. Long shadows of distant light quaked. The edge of the Black Forest whispered, an applause of leaves rustling, as if thrilled for the descent of forceful weather. Breath, once out of their mouths, turned to smoky explosions. Their vision turned hazy in the cover of their own exhale.  
Draco walked through pitch black with a moment’s pause at every sound. His cation amused her. Hermione quickly passed him, unafraid to great whatever waited in the night, which was bound to be nothing too dangerous. They were on school grounds after all.   
The Owlery. It was a place where all the owls lived, school and student together. It was a tower not unlike Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Tower back within the castle. After ascending a staircase, a single doorway was left for a human to enter. Few came to the Owlery. Most owls were summoned to and from the castle. Those who ventured close enough to the Owlery could guess why: owl dung. It was everywhere. It smelled. The stench of bird feces and regurgitation was unpleasant, a foul taint to the nose.   
Hermione personally only came close enough to ensure her mail was not intervened with.   
Up within the tower were rows and rows of nests for the birds to rest during their off time. Most were empty. Night was their prime time to hunt, as they were nocturnal creatures. Some chittered as they passed with their bright lights.   
The departure was apparently welcome. Draco’s steps were quicker than her own.   
At the base of the staircase, he stopped completely.  
“Scurgify.”   
She smirked. “Are you so sensitive that you can’t take a bit of filth?”  
He looked up, unamused. “Is that your muggle humor coming through?”  
The wind lessened as they started their journey back to the cold depths of the castle, ones that she never thought she’d miss until a nightly patrol out to the owlery.   
“Lumos maxima,” she commanded her wand. It shined bright as a spotlight through unending black. “Your moods are fouler than Professor Snape’s. What has gotten you so in a fluster this time? Taxes on a trust fund?”  
“You, pet. As always you are the bane of my existence,” he answered coolly.  
She huffed, stepping harder through the grass. “That’s not my fault, though, is it? You’re the one whose insisted on this whole charade. Why. Why would you do this if you hated it so much?”  
“Because.” He snarled. Eyes turned a stormy grey as he beheld her.  
“That’s not an answer.”  
“Yes, it is.”  
She shook her head. “It is a conjunction that means the cause of something, which has to have two parts to even be correct. ‘Because’ is not an answer. It is a nothing.”  
They’d been walking through the open stretch of lawn, two blue lights in complete darkness in front of an ancient castle. Their voices, raising with each pass of conversation, drowned out the faraway call of an animal.   
An animal focused entirely upon them.  
It dove through the black air in silent flight as the two bickered back and forth.   
“Why?” Hermione prodded. “Why. Why do this? Just tell me why.”  
“I thought it’d be different! I thought you’d be different.”  
The memory of their kiss ghosted her lips. Tingles throbbed through the bitten flesh.   
At the start, he’d been so cruel, controlling, commanding. He was the same Malfoy. There was that devilish delight at the corners of his mouth when he did something awful.   
There was that absence of such delights recently. A flurry of mixed emotions took its place. He was kind, yet irrigatable. Demanding, but not vengeful.   
He kissed her. That was something neither expected to happen. He was gentle, firm, needy, but never pushed past the welcome she offered to it. Draco hated her. He wanted her to suffer. Kissing was not a punishment. It was something he wanted to do in the moment of emotion and jealousy.   
She hadn’t pushed him away, to her eternal embarrassment.  
The mood of the night changed. A charged moment brought their eyes together, all air sucked out their lungs, as their minds both arrived at the memory of their completely compliant kiss and exactly what prompted it into the tension.   
Just as he stepped closer, a jagged shadow overtook them. It knocked Hermione to her back. Draco was thrown yards away, rolling in the grass and dew.   
Luminesce of her spell split through the shadow; it revealed tan fur, curled talons, expansive feathered wings. It loomed twice the size of a wizard. Despite the ache at the back of her skull, a sure concussion, Hermione directed her wand at the mysterious creature. Its thundering steps shook the very ground on which she laid as it circled around, cawing at the light.  
The blue light faded in and out. A dark film coated her vision more than once as she laid there, thoughts a distant hope to the bruised brain tissue. A few of her fingers, or what she hoped were her fingers, touched the base of her skull. They came back coated, with sticky black. Or red. She squinted harder, but the dark of night swallowed it whole.  
She mumbled a spell that shined her wand brighter. The creature retreated farther back. It kept the circular pattern. Over and over. Back and forth. Circle, circle, circle.  
Staggering to her feet, dripping hot liquid down her back, Hermione found her strength.  
“Protego.” It gave her a shield against whatever might come. “Lumos maxima.”  
Light grew thrice the size it had been. It highlighted a beast with the lower body of a lion. The tan fur was short. However, it had two magnificent wings off its back, grey and black feathers the length of her legs. When it chased after the light of her wand, she saw the face of a bird. An eagle.   
She gasped. A griffin.   
Griffins were ancient creatures hardly seen. Their patterns were wildly unknown.   
Wizards revered these magic creatures. Even humans valued griffins. They were a symbol of divinity. They mated for life, uninterested in another partner, which prompted churches to uphold the sigil of a griffin in their opposition of remarriage. Wizards, too, followed the example and rarely remarried.   
Hermione hyperventilated. She had to get the beast out of there. If someone saw it out there, it was bound to be investigated and then sure to be afterward would come the rumors that Draco and Hermione were together when it appeared. Oh Godric. Harry would explode. Ron might all out murder Draco over it.  
“Shoo,” she said as she waved her arms. They burned. But she pushed through at the image of Harry’s exploding head. “Go on now. Go, go, go.”  
It brushed against her body as she made her way toward her wand. She pushed it back with strength.   
Patience for the entire thing was lost within the overwhelming tide of pain.   
Hermione shot sparks into the distance. The griffin stalked off in a hurry to follow the dying embers of the red sparks.   
“Salazar, Granger. What took you so long?” Draco hissed as he approached. Two full minutes after the griffin’s caw echoed through the open.  
Coward.  
Arm raised in front of her eyes so as to block the light of his wand, Hermione faced him. The wizard was completely unhurt from the encounter. His black suit was impeccable. Not a bit of fuzz nor filth or dust rested against the expensive fibers. She glared. As she lay hurt and bleeding, he primed himself.   
Like a bloody bird!  
Though her back throbbed and the blood escaping her skull was an issue, she mustered the least bit of respect and walked herself toward the castle.   
“Hey! Come back here.” He waited. She still walked. “Come back here, I say.”  
She fumed. He seriously expected her to just bleed to death on the lawn.  
She heard his raging breath behind her ear as a pair of hands latched onto her hips and held her in place. Their deep clench at her flesh was barely felt. He used all his power to keep her still as he slithered in front of her with a frustrating look of concern on his face.  
“Don’t look at me like that. You can’t stand aside preening yourself while a griffin knocks me out!” She stomped her foot, instantly regretted it, and let out a small yelp.  
He presented his wand. “Do you want me to heal you or not?”  
“How can I trust you to do it properly?”  
He sneered. “Like there is a soul more capable than me.”  
She wanted to believe that there was another person with whom she could name as a more talented, experienced wizard. None came to mind that instilled confidence in a healing spell of the nature required. There was a single student who trailed her scores, in every subject.   
It was the impossible wizard in front of her.  
“You won’t curse me?”  
He rolled his eyes and brandished his wand. “For the last time, pet, I’m not here to curse you.”  
The spell took effect right away. A numbness overtook the sharp uncomfortable pain. It was welcome, though worrying, that sensation turned to nothing with each breath.   
Cold air kissed the back of her neck as it was thrown over her shoulder, in a disheveled braid, with the slightest touch of his bare flesh against hers.   
She froze. It was considered filthy to touch a muggleborn by a pure blood wizard. Not ones like Ron. But purebloods like Malfoy? He might chop his hand off in total upset.  
Hermione watched his motions carefully as he healed her wounds. His sharp eyes examined each split of her skin, gently fingering her flesh as he mended it. There was intensity as he worked. All his concentration focused upon his task until it was complete, and he was satisfied it was up to par.   
Next, he cleaned the blood from her uniform, adjusted her braids back to perfection, and carefully gave her an inspection for any imperfections to her person which left her feeling like quite his personal doll, a feeling that gave a sinfully wicked delight she stopped breathing.  
“Have I missed anything?” He asked. His fingers ghosted across her shoulder.  
She shook her head. “I think you got it all.”  
He exhaled. “I think so too.”  
A lightening strike across her chest filled her body with electricity. It beat her heart at the rate of galloping horses. Horses that danced within her very veins the rest of that night. Their braying broke through her dreams. She awoke with a smile, saddles and boots on the mind.  
The brilliant daze lasted a while.   
. . . . . .  
Of course, news was broken to Umbridge of the secret gathering of students at Hog’s Head and it was not well received. Flyers were posted in every common room. All student activities were disbanded. Meetings of more than three students were forbidden.   
The question of how they were discovered was at the forefront of her mind. Of course, there was always a way with the Ministry. They were sneaky when it came to spying, even more so with Harry’s business.   
“The jinx would have gone off. I’d know. We’d all know.”  
Ginny and Hermione squished together on the loveseat. “Then what could it be?”  
“I think he’s being watched,” Hermione admitted quietly. “We all are.”  
There were members of Gryffindor not privy to the knowledge of their group. They had to whisper together as if in gossip.   
Just across their chair was a pair of older Gryffindors, one of them being Cormac McLaggen. Hermione would have not cared whether he was there or not, but every time she was around, he paid a certain attention to her that could not be ignored. She hid behind her bushy curls.  
He managed to catch her eye. The uplift of the corner of his mouth showed a set of magnificent teeth. She looked away.  
“What’ll we do?” Ginny asked.  
Hermione shrugged. “Harry says we are going to meet anyway. He doesn’t care what Umbridge does to stop him.”  
“Suddenly warmed to the idea, I see.”  
“Yeah. It’s probably got something to do with Cho,” Hermione commented offhand.   
It was no secret, or perhaps it was, that Harry was interested in Cho Chang.   
The two girls settled together in their seat. They caught up on the major happenings, ones they couldn’t discuss in front of the boys because of their innate abilities to misread things and say something idiotic, happy in each other’s company rather than with boys.   
Ginny asked about Harry’s crush a bit but said nothing more on the matter. Her interest turned Hermione’s new spent time with Draco Malfoy.  
“Seems like the pair of you get on,” the witch probed. She was not subtle.  
Draco Malfoy escorted her to class, around the class, with a pair of bodyguards behind them. He led the way, with her just behind his left arm. They were flanked by Goyle and Crabbe, who were increasingly more willing to converse with her. Not in Draco’s presence. They stayed silent then. Unless addressed.   
Under pain of death, she’d never admit the slight comfort that came from their constant presence.  
They pushed other Slytherins away from her. Most were discouraged from interrupting her during her studies. All week Draco and her had studied together within the library in their own isolated corner. Never in preceding years had she gotten so much work done without being interrupted by Ron’s shenanigans or Harry’s plead for help.  
“Oh shoot.” Hermione looked at the clock. “I’ve got to get to class. See you later, Gin.”  
It was time for a double class of Potions. Potions class with Professor Snape, and the Slytherins. Double whammy.  
She climbed out of the portrait hole and found the two wizards waiting.  
“Onto Potions, Granger?” Crabbe asked as they all fell into line down the staircase.  
“Why, yes. Why don’t we walk together? It’s a nice day for a stroll, is it not?”  
Goyle snorted. It was the most she got out of him at any given time.  
It was a personal triumph.  
They descended to the dank dungeons. It was home for them. Hermione was personally uncomfortable below ground. She felt closed inside a grave awaiting the slightest give in stone before it’d fill with dirt and bury her alive. The humidity of the dungeon left a dew on the walls. It was all slick, and cool, and sticky, and odd.   
Goosebumps covered her skin.  
Their pucker coated her until she beheld him. Outside the Potions classroom leaned that slender silhouette, alongside three other Slytherin students. Her pulse quickened. Draco’s voice snaked its way through her body and squeezed at her lungs as she neared.   
That was, until she heard his voice.   
“…has him carted off to St. Mungos… they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.”  
A sudden flash of black overtook him. It was Neville who lunged at Draco and swung his limbs. She stood, frozen with horror, as her friends fought each other like the largest set of children ever recorded. Sparks shot out of the ends of her hair. Frustration boiled. It urged her thoughts toward a dangerous ledge of vengeance.   
Especially once the Professor took notice and deducted points from Gryffindor.   
A pair of gray eyes noticed her first in her approach. They stood still. It was the feeling of being ate up in delight.   
She glanced at Harry, Ron and Neville, still disheveled from the confrontation.  
Pansy Parkinson cleared her throat in that raspy tone. Her arms were crossed. There was that upturned nose like a pig’s that wrinkled Hermione’s nose in disgust.   
How she hated that Slytherin bitch.  
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the masquerading lion.”  
She reached out for Ron’s arm. “Come on. Before we get more points taken away for being late.”  
As they passed, she heard Draco’s jaw lock together. That bubbly feeling evaporated in an instant. The passive nature of his face did not hide the rage within his eye. It kept solely on her as the Slytherins fell into their seats after the Gryffindors.   
How could she have been so enchanted by his charms?   
This was the wizard who taunted her as a child. He was the one who made her cry. She looked down upon the witches who fell prey to his looks, so easily misled by their eyes rather than their minds.   
Now she was no better!  
Worse yet, she let him kiss her.  
Potions class turned into a class-long mortification of Professor Snape. Umbridge questioned his position within the school, asking deeply personal questions in front of the student body as if they were not even there.  
Umbridge was the only person not to cower away from the scowl upon the professor’s face.  
“Of all the unprofessional…” Hermione muttered beneath her breath.  
Ron rolled his eyes. “I hate the witch, too, Mione, but it’s Snape. The git deserves it.”  
“This cannot be considered class anymore. We haven’t discussed a single thing. What a waste of valuable time.” She huffed. “They do know that we short time here, don’t they?”  
“Short time? We’re here all year!”  
“_You_ may be here all year, but I can assure you, I am not. I don’t live with magic as you do. I can’t use mine outside these walls, near my parents.”  
A great bit of contention between the pair came from the waste of time within Hogwarts. She didn’t like to whittle her time in the wizarding world to silly nonsense. Of course, that was what happened.   
But not this year. Their side project was now their new class. That was not a waste.  
“Mum said you could stay with us this summer,” Ron said.   
“I can’t do that.” She waved her hand away.   
Molly was a kind woman. She adopted all her children’s friends. Harry was as much a Weasley as he was a Potter. The witch loved to shower him with love and affection since she knew he didn’t get it at home, or ever.  
There was part of Hermione that hated the idea. She did not want her mother replaced. Her mother was her biggest fan, so proud that her only child was something special as a witch. In all Molly’s attempt to congregate children under her roof as her own, a wall built up against the attempts. Hermione knew it meant well. She appreciated it. However, there was no woman alive or dead that could replace her own mum in her eyes.   
Ronald understood the pressure it put to have Hermione repeatedly deny their attempts to absorb her within their ranks. She believed them family, never questioning her love for them, but just couldn’t find the strength to commit so fully to people who weren’t her parents.  
“Considering all things, I think it’d be safer.”  
Her eyebrows raised. “Safer?”  
“Voldemort’s alive, Hermione. You’re on his radar ‘cause of Harry already, and now thanks to your bloody friend, Malfoy. The Eaters might start looking for you,” he explained.   
First the Ministry, now Death Eaters.  
Her life was entirely too complicated as a witch.


	10. Chapter 10

### CHAPTER 10

#### Practice

The flyer was the first thing he noticed as he checked the bulletin board for the new password. The bold letters at the top of the page. **Educational Decree Number Twenty-four.**  
Since Professor Umbridge came to the castle, all she focused upon was Potter and his activities. It was not a difficult stretch to assume that this decree was directed toward him, his followers, and all others within the castle that supported his cause. One of those followers was Hermione Granger.  
He read through the statement carefully. It spoke of student organizations and groups. Potter had his own. Or the Professor was under the impression that he did.  
“What is the new password?”  
A girl trudged up, overloaded with a lengthy cloak overtop her school robes.   
“Phineas,” he replied flatly.  
Potter was up to something which meant Granger was up to something. She had given no indication of such happenings which led to only one conclusion: it was secret. Secret meetings, a hidden organization, Umbridge, and Potter.  
He frowned. Life wasn’t hell enough already. She had to find herself at the center of a new professor’s hunt for rulebreakers.  
That very morning, he received a letter from his own father that read with very haunting news.

_Word has spread of your new pet. Are you mad, my son? Do you know the sensitivity of our situation? Our entirety depends upon success in our venture now, and a mudblood pet is no way to gain favor. The Dark Lord’s ear has been filled with stories of your taming ability already. You must not fail now. I fear what might have prompted this need to tame Miss Granger, and I forbid you to give fire to it. A Malfoy must not feed into fantasies, Draco. Find your head before it costs us ours. Tame your pet. It will be at our family’s loss if the mudblood is not all you claim her to be._

The Dark Lord’s wrath did not need to be spelled out.   
Draco felt the sudden pressure to contain her. She had to show she was not a wild Gryffindor, but an obedient pet.   
It had been his goal. Once.   
“How are things, Draco?”  
The girl stayed within his company, something he hadn’t noticed. He pulled himself away from the bulletin, not his frustration.   
“Fine,” he answered.  
“Pansy still giving you trouble about Granger?” Daphne asked. She pulled out a file and started to tend to her fingernails with intensity.   
He watched her movements for a minute, insulted at the statement, before he replied, “Pansy couldn’t give a cat trouble, much less me.”  
“All she does is give me trouble.” The witch snorted.  
“Because she’s a handful.”  
She eased his tension when she laughed at his joke. He suddenly relaxed into a chair, sinking deeper into the leather cushions, swallowed by comfort. It was a cold morning in Slytherin.  
He awoke that morning to color on his breath. The glass of the windows was coated in a thin film of fog. Waters of the Black Lake were murky, filled with darkness after its name. Little light filtered through the depths.   
Draco was drawn to more warmth. The flames of the common room fire were next to his leg, yet he felt minorly lifted from the frigid chill.   
Daphne Greengrass adjusted the thick glasses on her face fallen crooked from her focus upon the little tops of her fingernails. “What is the purpose of your pet?”  
“The purpose of Granger?” He sneered, amused. “I’d say it is obvious. What wizard wouldn’t like a pet witch to do what he wishes?”  
“I don’t think that is the truth,” she answered plainly.  
His skin tensed. “What?” He barked.  
“You’re lying,” Daphne said again, just as plainly as before. It held not spite, nor emotion. Just a statement of fact, as was Daphne’s way.  
Draco Malfoy made a point to hide himself very well away from the opinions of others. He did not care for them and did not wish to receive any such statements regarding his business. It was a vulnerability in armor he dared not wear.   
Vulnerability made him uncomfortable.   
He felt rips in his façade when Hermione neared. Emotions came quicker than he knew them to. Pieces of him melted away when she drew near, spoke to him, sparked his nerve. Something so infuriating and intriguing about a witch as that.  
Draco adjusted himself in his seat. “I don’t know what you mean.”  
“Sure, you don’t.”  
Two sets of clobbering steps bounded near. They were attached to Goyle and Crabbe. A rush filled his blood. Draco did not want them knowing of the extent of his fascination with Granger. He shot Daphne a warning look. She didn’t notice; her nail file was more important.  
He internally groaned. If she said one word about it to anyone, he’d curse her twice.  
A sudden shot of brown blur shot out between his friend’s feet.   
Goyle yelped, tripped over his own feet, and fell on top of Crabbe, who was not the least bit stable without his attention, who toppled the pair to the floor. Legs flailed. Crabbe’s chin knocked against the grey rug. His teeth crunched together in a horrid sound. It set Draco’s hairs on edge.  
Daphne snickered. “Knew those two liked each other too much.”  
The mass of the two friends moved as a beached squid. A head popped out of the black and revealed a very disgusted Goyle.  
“I hate that bloody thing!” He cried.  
Of whom he spoke was the right hand of Draco. It greedily helped itself to his side, meowing and purring and clawing at his hand in plead for a quick pet.   
Draco rolled his eyes. “You ought to watch where you walk.”  
“I do,” the wizard grumbled as he retracted from his friend’s cushion on the floor.  
The other one rose to his knees. “She does it on purpose.”  
“I know,” Goyle spat back.  
“It’s smart, I swear it is. It does things not like a cat,” Crabbe said as he climbed back to his feet. His shirt tails were untucked from the waist of his pants. It bothered Draco to watch go unattended to.  
He ran his fingers down the cat’s furry back. A spine arch greeted his open palm.   
Khalessi was unlike any creature he knew before. He much more liked it than at first.  
She did his bidding without hesitation. It required so much attention that he was not given an excess amount of time to brood and stew as normal. It did wonders. Draco found himself happier just at the sight of the creature bounding toward him, a physical being of his relief.   
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a cat, you nutter. Not a spy.”  
They looked at Draco with suspicion. “It might not be a spy. But it isn’t no damn cat either.”  
“It pulls out all my socks, and things, and piles them across the room.”  
“She hates clutter,” Draco stated. “Besides it’s the only thing that gets you to clean up your space.”  
Goyle glared down at the fuzzy cat as it helped itself to Draco’s lap. The wide set eyes were zeroed in around the creature. She started to swing back at him, claws extended, and a gentle hiss. It scared him. The wizard jumped away.  
“See? It’s out to get me.”  
The cat hissed again. She purred in satisfaction when Goyle took a seat near Daphne, across the room a way, far off from her master with whom she did not share attention. He was hers.  
Draco chuckled. “Enough about Khalessi. Where’s Granger?”  
“Great Hall, studying,” Crabbe answered.  
Draco narrowed his eyes. “Why aren’t you there? What if she leaves?”  
The wizard laughed. “She won’t.”  
“She took five books,” Goyle further explained. “She’s not going anywhere for a while. We figure three hours.”  
The Educational Decree was at the forefront of Draco’s thoughts. Umbridge did things for reasons. Subtle, but obvious with thought. She suspected Potter. He was the one everyone was after with his tale of Diggory’s death so heavily disputed. The Ministry was no fool. He’d been a nutter to go around spouting things the Ministry wasn’t ready to hear. It took him from shining star to black stain.  
Still. Draco filled with bitterness at this thought. The community loved him as their Chosen One. Power of the Ministry faded with each day that their stories differed. They needed ammunition against Saint Potter to diminish his reputation in the public.   
Whatever they were after, it had to be very damning for the entire wizarding world to hate him. Draco hoped that what it was Umbridge was after would do that. He hated that smug face every time he danced by rules, by tradition, by him.  
Harry Potter held himself a bloody king of the castle. Even the headmaster believed it!   
Umbridge tamed down the edges of his reign. She tightened the noose around his activities, ready to suffocate his unruliness once and for all. He’d be happy to watch it all burn around the stupid Gryffindor in a blazing flame, however, Granger’s neck was there with Potter’s. It was not the time to cinch it. Not until she was free and loose of the mess.  
She was his pet. To continue to play with her, he had to stamp out the her evolvement before it descended too far out of control.  
He found her in the Great Hall, just as Crabbe said. Her hair was down her back in smooth waves. The loose strands of her bangs were pinned back behind her ear. She looked comfortable there with a book in her hand. As she read along in the dusty depths of the book, her lips moved with each word. Her puffy, pink, soft, sweet lips.  
Draco tightened his tie against his throat. It surged the blood back to his head and not his…other one.   
“Fancy finding you here,” he stated as he took a seat across. They were the only ones on the bottom half of the table. The rest were sparsely dispersed amongst the tables and the room. Quite a few Gryffindors grouped together at the head of one table, murmuring quietly together. He recognized a few from classes. They were fifth years, like Granger and him.   
“Fancy that.” Her voice was flat. The monotone hit his ears wrong.   
He glanced up from his book. “All not well in the land of Gryffindors? Uh oh. Are you no longer their beloved princess? Has there been a coup?”  
Granger flipped through the pages of her heavy book. The scent of the book rose up between them. Vanilla flower and almond. He enjoyed it. Old books reminded him of his father’s study at home. He loved to read next to the fire as his father worked at his desk, mumbling under his breath, cursing his cold tea, only pausing when Draco’s mother, Narcissa, entered to check on them. He’d smile no matter how overwhelmed he was. A young Draco would watch his parent’s kiss with a hot blush on his face before he reminded him that he was right there. He’d act disgusted when his mother came to give him a kiss, too, but truly, he felt loved. Those old books made him remember that very memory each time.   
“You ought to know,” she quietly snipped.  
Draco clenched his jaw. He remembered why he was there.   
“Educational Decree 24. I saw the flyer as has the rest of the castle. Something as idiotic as going against the Ministry reeks of Gryffindor. Whatever it is that Potter’s up to, you better not be a part. Umbridge eats half breeds for breakfast. I wonder what she does with muggleborns.”  
Though her hand stayed against her work and attention focused ever downward, Granger had heard him. He heard it in her breath. The natural repetition was interrupted with a sputter.  
He felt overcome with anger. “You really haven’t learned your place if you think that is the position you need to take against a threat like Umbridge. Don’t they teach you anything about subtly over in that Tower? The obvious target isn’t always the one that needs extermination. More so, when you do things like this, it makes me look bad. And I’ll not, you hear me?”  
Noise of the other side of the table captured his attention. Their peers sat decidedly away from her. That was his will, of course. Draco liked the space from the other wizards, but Crabbe and Goyle weren’t there.   
All those lions should have surrounded her, absorbed her into their den, as was the nature of the mighty Gryffindor. His presence never scared them off. Not in their large pride with only one Slytherin opponent. It was something else that kept them away.  
She exhaled sharply out of her nose. Her lips turned white as they formed a thin line.   
“Something to say, pet?” A bemused grin, a tease he’d admit, contorted his mouth. He expected resistance. She was not broken in yet.   
A thrill tingled the base of his spine. His fingers missed the excitement of a good duel. It’d gotten rather too peachy at Hogwarts without the promise of a duel with Potter and the tosser Weasley. He needed an outlet for all the pending frustrations that mounted in his throat, his father’s letter, the Dark Lord, his troubling pet, all made for a weight of stress that affected his confident gate.   
He was furious at her lies, as he knew she would lie for Potter until the Dark Lord pulled down the stones of the castle, but he knew it was their hold on her that made it so. Still, he saw his hold in her.   
Ever so slow, the identity of his pet was coming to fruition.   
“I’m not your pet,” she snapped below her breath. “You broke the terms of our agreement. The contract is void.”  
A scoff erupted from his mouth before he realized. That was not a welcome surprise.   
“Are you out of your blooming mind? I’ve not broken anything.” His mouth hissed rather sharply. “Our contract is still valid.”  
When Granger raised her gaze, brown eyes of molten rock met his with resistance. Pieces of her set in place, a literal wall of stubbornness bound to fight with him the whole way. He growled, as if in anger, but the growl erupted more of excitement. A verbal joust was soon arrived. She’d fight him. All her logic poured into whatever argument; he’d counter every point in another view so it painted different. Eventually she’d feel guilty. He’d win.  
“You fought with Harry and lost Gryffindor 10 points.”  
“It’s not my fault that the freak Longbottom got his knickers in a twist.”  
“Because of what you said!”  
“The point still stands, Granger. I did nothing to break the terms of our contract. Weaslebee and Potter involved themselves in an attack against me, not the other way around.” He made a point to pause so that her attention was on him. They shared a brief moment of eye contact. “Remember what I said. Their expulsion would not stop me. I want you. I want you for myself, pet. You are the center of my focus.”  
Her anger diffused. Slightly. She shifted in her seat. “I know.”  
She flipped a section of thick hair over her shoulder and ruffled the curls. The sweet chocolate color was luscious through the length. It was a stark comparison to the nature of the beast when she first arrived at Hogwarts. It looked an awful nest atop her head. Frizz and broken strands every which way.   
It changed. She changed almost overnight. One day she was typical know-it-all Hermione Granger, Merlin’s blessing to the world, and then that night, the night of the Yule Ball, she became a Hermione Granger, hot bitch witch.   
That was when she started getting noticed by other wizards. He noticed their gazes. It lingered long on her figure. He was not blind. They started to watch as she walked, here and there, noticed when she reached for a book a little too tall for her and the hem of her skirt lifted above the knee.   
The bastards wouldn’t get a look now.  
“Every moment of your time is mine, remember, pet?” He asked carefully. Draco had every intention to keep the witch his. It may have changed since the beginning when he first took her as his, but the truth remained the same. “You’ll never be free of me.”  
Her eyes drifted back to her book. “I’m starting to believe that.”  
He smirked. “Excellent. The easier it will be for you then.”  
Both settled into a quiet compliance. Their schoolwork was the center of their focus. He was content with her near. Hermione worked on her potions essay before returning to her large book _Hogwarts: A History_. Draco read through herbology and charms text, fingering the pages delicately so not to damage them with little creases.   
The Great Hall flowed with students in and out. The soft lullaby of murmuring voices a constant as they worked. A chorus of quill scratches, page turns, the slide of the tip into inkwells. Across the table, Granger glowed against the candlelight as she worked, a gentle smile atop her lips as she read. The guise of schoolwork gave him a direct view of her, up close.  
The longing to own her swallowed him whole. He wanted that place in front of her, on either side, everywhere she turned. That place was his. Her kiss was already claimed under the Malfoy flag. Not that it mattered. He didn’t want her sexually. Oh no.   
But a distinct flicker of pleasure aroused below his beltline at the image of her excited fingers against his flesh, chosen over the two bumbling nightmares she roamed with. It was not much of a choice either. He was the clear winner. She quivered beneath his kiss. Not a word of resistance whispered between breaths as their faces collided. The taste of her minty breath filled his mouth.   
He spiraled down a hole of fantasy in the blink of an eye. His mind filled with her hips pressed his, the hot tingle of her fingers against his thighs, and the sharp intake of breath when he entered the slippery core. He practically felt the course curls between his fingers as he imagined holding it as an anchor to his body.  
The only way it stopped was when a few seventh-year students passed by with boisterous laughter. It brought his heighted joy to frustration. He couldn’t actually shag her. His imagination was all he got!   
The wizards were distracted as they walked the aisle. One of them bumped into his pet’s back. She slammed against the table with a thud. A startled gasp echoed from her lungs as she struggled for a breath. Their disturbance was met with a sharp glare of Malfoy grey eyes.  
“You’d think a wizard as thick as you had at least mastered the art of walking.” Draco growled like a dragon. He saw Granger wipe behind her eyes. It made his heart fiery strong. “Come near her again and I’ll give you a lesson in crawling because those giant’s legs will no longer work.”  
They stared on at him with wide eyes.   
“Go. Get out.” He spat. One started to move forward with an arm extended. “Don’t. Just don’t. No apologies.”  
One of them had the audacity to open his mouth. Draco stopped him short. “Did I stutter? Leave. Now.”  
Embarrassed, the group left the Great Hall. They left in an uproar of silence since the entire room had heard.  
Eventually the room settled back to its normal hum of voices and quiet panic of forgotten assignments and too long essays. Attention drifted to their own business.  
Draco glanced Granger’s chest. Heat came to her cheeks as she removed her hand from between her breasts.   
“It’s fine,” she murmured.   
“Like hell it is. Color like you got. You’ll bruise like a peach.”  
She snorted. “Honestly, you’re lighter than I am.”  
“That’s different. I’m a Malfoy.” He flicked open a textbook. It stood on end atop the tabletop. “We’re hard as ice.”  
A little while longer, a tea pot, two teacups on little saucers, a dish of sugar cubes and a vial of cream appeared between the pair. Teatime. All the other tables had the same setup appeared at their table, too. Draco finished his chapter before he set to help himself to it, but he found a cup already poured and pushed to his side. Granger had one, too. She was nose deep lost within her reading.   
He sipped a long hot gulp. It filled him up with warmth. The familiar burn in his eyes lifted as he blinked back the book dust.  
Draco put the cup back down in its saucer. “That reminds me. You should have a letter.”  
Her brows lifted from her eyes. “A letter?”  
He gave her that all knowing look. “I’m not an idiot, pet. Your letter to Krum. Where is it?”  
Krum and Granger exchanged letters often. He witnessed the owl deliver his letters twice a week. It was obvious whom it was that sent it by the odd shaped Bulgarian envelope, narrow and long.   
A letter was delivered the previous morning. Goyle watched her draft the letter in the library.  
An envelope was slid over. Unsealed.  
Viktor Krum was a larger chump that Draco originally took him for. He waved the paper between his fingers. “This is what you two write to one another?”  
“Yes. What’s wrong with it?” Her brows pushed together in confusion.  
“It’s boring, that’s what.” His eyes scanned the letter once more. Not a single curse word to be found.  
Granger’s attention was captured enough to push aside her book. “And I suppose you’re not boring, eh?”  
“Not enough to ask a witch ‘how is the weather over there?’ like a complete dolt.”  
“What would you ask instead?” She challenged with a bite in her tone. “How are the mudblood’s faring? ‘They’re doing all too well for my taste. Why, I don’t know why they don’t just drop dead. Better yet, why don’t I help them?’”   
Her mocking tone was not appreciated. He chose not to hear it.  
“A person’s favorite book reveals much about themselves that they don’t realize. I judge them based on that answer. And, I never forget to ask it.”  
He handed back the letter with his consent to post. There was nothing in it to alarm him. Better yet, she was not resisting him as hard. That was a delighted victory. He was much closer to control.   
Sometime later, he started to gather his things and placed them inside his satchel. He nudged her to pack up to. She huffed in frustration but complied.  
“Where are we going?” She asked.  
“Quidditch practice.”  
She paused. “I can’t study there.”  
“Well then I guess you’ll have to do what it’s meant for and watch.”  
The day was gloomy on the Pitch. Clouds filled the sky with nothing but a gray mist. It was dry, luckily. No one else was at the Pitch. It left a lonely reception when they descended upon the empty expanse.   
Granger shivered when she gazed up at the tall towers that encompassed the oval arena. The towers were adorned in the colors of each house. Green and silver for Slytherin. Red and gold for Gryffindor. Yellow and black for Hufflepuff. Blue and bronze for Ravenclaw. He watched the fabrics sway in the wind as they marched to the locker room beneath the wooden stands.   
Wind would hinder his job as a Seeker. The snitch loved to ride the gusts of wind. It made it nearly impossible to capture one of the fastest flying objects known to wizarding kind that much harder when the wind aided its escape. Draco clenched his jaw. It would take a trained focus.  
“Where do you want me?” She asked with a sigh. Her hands plunged into the depths of her Sherpa jumper. The high collar stood taller than her jaw. She snuggled her face within the fluffy pink jumper as he imaged a nipper would a blanket.   
“I suppose any place will do.”  
“The castle,” she answered swiftly.  
Leave it to her to ruin his gracious mood.   
“Sit up there at center field,” he instructed. “It’ll be easier to keep an eye on you there, pet.”


	11. Chapter 11

### CHAPTER 11

#### Necessary Roughness

Hermione Granger climbed atop the wooden stands, seemingly abandoned in the absence of a Quidditch match. It was cold. Colder than cold. She chose a seat toward the center of the stand, out of direct wind, and charmed it with a warming charm. Still, her butt froze only a minute after sitting.  
The grassy length of the Pitch was long. Blades moved with the wind as it whipped across the fields into the beyond of the grounds. A sharp whistle came with each gust. The hoops of the Goalposts were the most likely culprit. They sang higher than a siren as the force of nature pushed air through their center.  
She’d sat along the side of this Quidditch Pitch many times throughout the years. Harry played first year. Ronald started on the team, too. Fred and George played as Beaters on the Gryffindor, so they were cheered for as well. So many times in the stands. Alone. She watched her best friends endure so many injuries that she could have prevented. Or prevented all together if they didn’t play.  
They all thought she hated the game which was not a fair assumption. She liked it. She attended the matches and cheered on from the stands as they battled their opponents. Just because she didn’t solely focus her existence as school entirely on a sport and speak of it incessantly didn’t mean she was incapable of enjoying said sport.  
The truth was, Quidditch made her queasy. Her hands and feet tingled when she watched people dangle from their brooms so high in the sky. She hated flying. Brooms were her enemy. Heights made her deathly afraid.  
Her mouth watered and thoughts spun when they’d zoom up higher than the clouds. It was usually Harry. He always blindly did dangerous things. It was going to be the death of him. And her.  
She crossed her ankles, pressed her thighs firmly together and tensed her entire body against the wind. The hope of a short practice on her mind.  
Members of the Slytherin House team filtered onto the grass from the locker room below. Their bodies were small against the enormity of the Pitch. Five hundred feet long and one hundred eighty feet wide, the team were less threatening little blemishes atop the shiny grass. School uniforms were only required for formal matches. Draco wore solid black. His porcelain hair was a giveaway. Otherwise the players blended in.  
As the practice started, nevertheless, she recognized two lumpy figures last to the pitch. One was shorter than the other. Both were built like boulders. They swung their legs over their brooms rather lazily and flew upward where the rest of the team awaited them. She chuckled as Crabbe huffed. His fingers fumbled with his beaters bat in hand. It was tough to switch hands with him clung so tight to the broomstick.  
A sharp voice boomed out over the pitch. Words were lost in the distance. Still, the way Crabbe reacted, it needed no translation.  
Goyle and Crabbe were the team’s newest members. Their beater bats were short and blunt pieces of wood that hanged off their arms with a great weight. It took Crabbe a good hop to swing the instrument around to have it worthy of using. Then when a push of wind came, his cape helped pull away from his stance. It took him an entire minute to ready himself again.  
Crabbe’s cape was a problem for Goyle. It whipped in his line of vision as he watched his teammates demonstrate techniques. He exclaimed something of a colorful variety and pushed his friend away.  
Green capes fluttered higher as Crabbe and Goyle’s instruction continued. The other players tossed a Quaffle around in a playful game of catch.  
During a match, the Slytherin team was a ruthless competitor who stopped at nothing, even slight cheating, to win. Hermione observed a different side of them. They practiced like childish boys.  
One player dropped his hold of his broom, swirled around so only his knees kept him attached to it, and caught the Quaffle. All while flying! Hermione was at the edge of her seat as she watched. He recovered topside and tossed the ball to another teammate with a satisfied smirk on his face.  
Was this common practice for all the teams? It’d had better not be. If she found out Ronald, or for Godric’s sake Harry Potter, did moves like that, she’d have them buried in statistics of athletic injuries and the damage they cause.  
Hermione scanned the Pitch for a player with white blonde hair, but he was nowhere to be found. She hopped at attention focusing harder on the players. Where had he gone?  
Just as she thought of standing for a better vantage point, a dark shadow cascaded down the stands. Overhead levitated a body.  
She started to smile, concocted a snarky remark in her mouth, until she saw the green.  
Draco didn’t wear green.  
“Still don’t have anything better to do, I see.”  
She bit back a smirk. “Someone’s got to feed that ridiculous ego of his.”  
Terry Higgs dropped lower in his hover. He was adorned in Slytherin green except for the black of his trousers. He’d tied his dark hair tightly at the crown of his head. The dark smudge of his beard had already come back.  
“I’d rather jump off the Astrology Tower than do that.” He chuckled. “Suppose he’s still got that rule against me, doesn’t he?”  
“Rule?” She forced a bit of confusion in the air.  
“It’s not that much of a leap. He tells me to back off and tells you to stay away. You know a Malfoy. They love to make their rules.”  
Hermione feigned indifference. “Hm. Really? I hadn’t noticed.”  
“Surprised he doesn’t have you out here in a number three jersey,” Terry said. “That’s what his rules are about, aren’t they? You’re like his girlfriend.”  
Girlfriend. Draco Malfoy’s mudblood girlfriend.  
It would be like her marrying her rapist. He was the terror of her nightmares. The only reason she was there with him was because she had no choice. Things were too tight for Harry to be lured into a duel. Harry couldn’t help himself. He’s been off in his own angry world of grief and isolation that he’d leap into any chance to prove himself and give Umbridge all that she needed to ruin his life.  
Hermione was doing her duty as his best friend and someone who depended upon Harry’s survival.  
“He is rather possessive over his things,” she replied.  
Higgs frowned. Those bubbles underneath her skin defused. She was a pathetic excuse of a witch in his eyes. It was just another notch underneath Malfoy’s belt.  
“So, you’re one of things now?”  
She nodded. It hurt with each motion. “I suppose I am.”  
A hollow echo bounced around the Pitch. Higgs overlooked his shoulder where a group of green capes waited. They waved him over. Members of the Slytherin team descended upon the center of the field. Terry flew off and joined them. Across the Pitch, a patch of blonde hair appeared like a whimsical fairy as it danced in the fast gusts of the broom. Malfoy skidded to halt into the congregation.  
Practice continued.  
Players started to split. There were two groups. They grew with each new entry until there were no new players to introduce. Each group took to their side and aligned in their playing positions. Draco sat highest, whereas the chasers were closer to the ground.  
Team captain walked on the grass. He placed the balls center field.  
All players were instructed to close their eyes. Once he was satisfied, the captain released the snitch and watched it fly out of vision. At the call of his voice, all the players opened their eyes and started the fight for the Quaffle. A collision of green upon green.  
Crabbe struggled the hardest at the start. He had to switch hands to adjust himself on his broom and transfer the bat each time. It made for slow game play.  
Out of the grinding pull of the pile of players came a victor: Terry Higgs. He flew with the Quaffle in his arm as fast as he could. Others flew after him. They pulled at his cape. Two tried to collect him between their brooms and shove him out of the goal path, but the apt flyer dipped down at the last minute, Quaffle still in his grasp.  
He wove through the hordes of players. His teammates were excellent, but so were his opponents. His arm rose to just toss into the hoop when he was shoved rather hard out of the path.  
Hermione’s breath caught. It was Malfoy!  
The glimpse of his black shadow against the green of Terry as he flew by the hoop, narrowly missing the goalpost. By the time Terry recovered his thoughts from having almost given himself the world’s worst headache, Malfoy had sped away after the Golden Snitch. The game resumed.  
Draco’s team grabbed hold of the Quaffle and managed to score. His team cheered, lifting their arms in the air victorious as the other team struggled to gain hold of the ball. Goyle managed to swing his bat and knock a player off their broom. Higgs team was down a player.  
A sandy haired boy raced through the towers of the arena with an outstretched arm. He looked young. His broom extended far out in front of him as he flew by.  
Suddenly the black shadow emerged once more. He was after the snitch. It reflected off the rare glimpse of sun through a thick blanket of clouds. Just as Hermione thought she spied it, the grey covered the light and the snitch was lost.  
A cheering captured her attention once more.  
Terry’s team scored a point. His arm pumped. A cheery smile on his face was shared by his teammates. They rode their brooms with puffed chests the closer they flew toward the opposing team, who’d grabbed the Quaffle.  
He formed a fist. As he came behind the player with the Quaffle, he swung his arm and popped the ball from the player’s arm right into his teammates. He then blocked the others from pursuing his teammate by swerving within their paths of flight. They all stopped short. One slipped from their straddle atop the broomstick. Their chest piece helped displace their weight and toppled them over, only a few fingers still clenched onto the wood.  
Hermione’s hands flew to her wand, convinced the player was about to fall, when he managed to climb back aboard.  
It was a stark comparison to the childish fun they’d had at the beginning of their practice. This was nasty. They shoved, and pushed, and injured their own teammates. What was worst was that their teammates accepted it without grudge. A Slytherin! Not holding a grudge. It was another species. Her eyes stared without rest at the workings of the team. They focused on the task at hand with great intensity, violently fought for something as simple as a goal, then returned to their playful selves at the sound of the goal. The Quaffle actually whistled through the hoops.  
Terry Higgs and two other teammates moved once more. This time they were a straight line of defense as the other team charged at them. The other team broke their line to avoid a crash and in the process opened up their Quaffle. It took only a few seconds for the chasers, Terry included, to surround the player. Again, he was met with a dark entity as Malfoy and his teammates fought off their advancement. It was clear that he was stronger than need be. Terry whipped back on his broom. The two collided again as they pushed against each other. She thought they’d forgotten the game completely until there was a moment where Malfoy turned and flew straight into the clouds.  
There was another score on Terry’s team. Crabbe finally managed to swing his bat at a few players. It didn’t hit them, but it was a moderate success on his part.  
All hope seemed lost for Draco Malfoy’s team. Terry Higgs was a strong competitor. He and his teammates worked together like an agile snake in the sky. Each motion carefully aligned with the others.  
Slytherin was known for their aggressive matches. They used every advantage to gain success. It was hard on the other players. Many got hurt. Their ruthlessness was an undisputed fact of the castle.  
This Slytherin, the one in front of her eyes, was another fact all together. Sure, there seemed to be a fair amount of fights and aggression. Crabbe and Goyle liked their positions as beaters too much. Malfoy, too, did his fair share of disruption. Yet, they played an excellent game.  
It took a bit of pride out of her sails that Gryffindor wasn’t nearly so attuned.  
Malfoy and his billowing black cape lowered through the center of the field; his hand raised high. In it was the smallest ball of the game: the Golden Snitch.  
The team captain called game. Malfoy’s team were the victors. They hooted and chanted their nasty little rhymes at the other players as they flew around. Goyle pounded his own chest with the beaters bat like it didn’t hurt. Hermione clapped quietly in the stands. She’d forgotten the chill of the late afternoon for a moment and felt glad that Malfoy had won. She was there for him, and he won. That was something.  
Practice finished forty minutes later just as the sky started a darker turn indicating the coming rain on the wind. That pleasant smell rode the wind, a siren’s call of nature. It tickled her ears with tiny drops. A kiss from the pending storm.  
Hermione hugged herself as she fought the wind down the stands. It wanted her flesh. The push and pull tugged at the loose ends, wherever it could enter beneath her shield, icing the pale body under its touch. The cold set in her bones. It encapsulated her lungs in a tight embrace with each breath cinching tighter.  
The Slytherin team eyed her closely as they entered the locker room. Most just slipped out of their gear and left just as quick. They tilted their heads to the sky, concerned of the rain.  
She waited patiently. And waited then anxiously.  
Malfoy was the only one left that hadn’t exited the room. The last teammate was up the hill beyond sight already.  
When he fully emerged, he was still adorned in his black practice gear. He was a wraith, in his billowing black. The only show of humanity was the red burn of the wind across his cheeks.  
He gestured her to follow him. Eager to escape the wind’s torment, she entered the room.  
He stood before a bench where his fingerless gloves laid. He worked at the arm guards. The pale hairs of his brow fell as he focused. His fingers moved stiff against the leather ties. They were bright red. Almost raw. He winced as he stole a breath.  
Hermione frowned. “Let me,” she said quietly.  
She parted the knots with caution and freed his pale skin from their constraint. They were placed at the bench next to his gloves.  
He examined her closely. A distrustful glaze clouded his grey orbs.  
She gave a small smile. “I’m not going to curse you.”  
Although there was hesitation in the tension, Hermione bent down to remove his shin guards. It was deathly silent as she worked. He stayed though. Not a muscle moved as she was in front of him. Even more impressive, he refrained from a snide comment easily constructed in the position she was in.  
One guard was undone, then the other. As she rose, she saw the lax hold in his shoulder. It was slumped down in its socket. He pulled the arm close to his body, a subtle way to support it.  
For a moment, she forgot who he was. She prodded the arm with a faint touch. It was enflamed, sore. Her hands ghosted across the shoulder blade. The taut muscle tensed beneath the flow of her fingertips. Hermione lost herself in the feeling. She stood behind him, assessed the damaged tissues, and started to work her hands with gentle pressure up his spine. When she reached the shoulder, her fingers clamped the muscle and stretched it down the length, rounded back and stretched it again.  
Harry played Quidditch first year. He was often sore from practice. One day he’d been so in need of soothing, Hermione massaged his back. It was completely platonic. She wanted him to feel better. Ron took it the wrong way and she heard about it for weeks after.  
She remembered the feedback that Harry had given. She mumbled, half in thought, “I’m not sure if this helps with a shirt on - .”  
Malfoy quickly cut in, albeit in a very gentle, soft way. “I’ll take it off.”  
Her pulse quickened as the bare expanse of his back was exposed. She was in awe. It took a moment to collect the Gryffindor courage and touch him again. It was the same chest he had at the Black Lake, that was true, but it felt far more intimate this time. She touched him in comfort. Her hands worked over his muscles, stretching and rubbing down the length of his back.  
What shocked her the most was the heat that radiated. Her hands and face warmed in close proximity, despite the idea that Draco Malfoy was known to be an ice-cold wizard. The pale porcelain skin didn’t aid that image either. It should be cold.  
Relief came in waves. She watched the shoulders sink from their resolute thrones high in the sockets down to a more comfortable position the longer her hands massaged.  
There was complete silence. Wind groaned against the structure and a sparse applause of rain beat against the boards, but the room was dead quiet as she worked.  
His heart was palpable below her touch. It thudded violently.  
She rested her right hand atop his shoulder as she brought her left to his side and worked. A warmth surrounded the hand.  
Malfoy rested his hand on hers. She stopped. Her heart did anything but.  
Juicy sliding sensation swirled her abdomen. It moved down deeper, into the throbbing core of her excitement. His heat transformed into hot tension. The dense cloud of his musk, a haze of perfume in her mind. She noticed the ripping tension down his back. Their defined edges beneath the stretched flesh. The heat. It beckoned her closer. A bead of sweat fell down the risen edges of his spine in a delightfully slow descent. Her eyes followed as the bead disappeared within the waist of his taut Quidditch trousers.  
Sparks started at her bellybutton. The delicious drop of pleasure fought against the rational, logical repulsion she expected herself to feel rather than urges she prided herself on not having.  
Romance was ridiculous. Dating was fruitless in youth. Lust, a typical by product of a budding teenage body, nothing to surrender to momentary bodily responses.  
Hermione couldn’t help herself. The hormones were stronger than her resolve.  
He was in pain. So was she.  
She moved closer, lips quivered as she struggled with control, and caressed the flesh of his back with her lips. They closed at the base of his shoulder blade.  
Malfoy moved. Her kiss had encouraged him to confront her. They were face to face now. His own face was easily as unreadable as were her feelings.  
The air turned electric. She felt something surge up around them. Whatever it was, it was powerful. Pouring rain stopped its patter against the walls. Wind moved soundlessly. A force, invisible and unyielding, protected them in a sensory deprived space where only the other was a thing they noticed.  
His eyes. They held a come-hither glow. The icy cold dropped from his stare.  
She found herself on her toes, closer to his face. Strands of his hair fell from place as he, too, leaned in close. A faint feeling of touch spread up the side of her face as his fingers cupped just below her jaw and reached upward. Their eyes aligned. She was unable to look away. A vulnerability to Malfoy that she saw only this close left her enthralled.  
Their lips touched. At first, Hermione felt only the lightest touch of his lips against hers, but their pressure became firmer the longer they stayed. He pushed into her harder than she pressed into him. She was too distracted by the dazzling sparkles beneath her eyelids to realize it might seem unwilling. To make up for it, her tongue delicately caressed the closure of his mouth, spelling out her desire in an unmistakable way.  
Malfoy was still slow and careful as his tongue joined hers. It massaged her tongue, flicking and licking with a tickling pressure. She was in instant raptures. His taste invaded her senses. All she read was the distinct, yet sweet, taste that would always be assigned to Draco Malfoy.  
The locker room would be the place where she snogged Malfoy after practice. Luckily she didn’t ever enter the place beneath the stands, but she saw it plenty. That part of Hogwarts, along with that corridor, would be places forever engrained in her mind. When she walked by that stretch in the castle, she blushed violently at the physical display of lust. Lust that overpowered her senses.  
The moment was too impossible to resist. Her body was alive with a burning fire; the epicenter was his palm against her cheek.  
There was a firm hold at her waist that pulled her flush against his naked torso. Heat filled her hands as they rested against his chest.  
It would have been the moment to push away. Her hands were poised in the perfect position. It was time.  
The slick snakes of desire had other plans. Hermione laced her hands around his neck and pulled him deeper into her. The taste of his tongue was a delicacy she wanted to savor with every last second. Every last drop. The edges of his lips curled with a huff out of his nose.  
When their lips stopped kissing in favor of a deep breath, Hermione noticed how he kept his face close to hers. Their foreheads rested together as they breathed each other’s hot, excited air. And she knew he was excited. It dug into her stomach very obviously.  
She ventured a glance upward and noticed he wore a very visible smirk. The softness was in his features. He breathed with his eyes closed tight. Smirk still on his mouth.  
Her breath caught. Was it all a Slytherin trick?  
The silent of the air made it easy for him to notice her change in rhythm. His eyes burned bright as they examined her, reading her features. She blushed, poised her eyes at her feet where they seemed better suited than the alluring expanse of his chest, and loosened her hands.  
His hands flew to hers, holding her there against his neck. The soft touch rubbed down her thumbs as he held them. His lips parted. Their moisture glistened.  
Malfoy kissed her again, swallowing the gasp right out of her mouth. Her body lurched at the opportunity, threw it into overdrive, and sent a wave of ravaging hormones against her better judgement, and collided with his body all over again. His hands pulled at her urgently. They explored down the length of her sides. One hand ran close to her arse. He paused the journey as if to ask for permission. She nodded through their snog.  
The roar of thunder overhead broke the daze.  
Malfoy’s lips remained millimeters from hers. “Gryffindor will be here soon.”  
The icy chill of the rain burned her raw lips. She found herself nodding without a word. It was time to stop. Stop snogging. Stop…  
Malfoy and Hermione parted in the castle. They agreed to meet in the library after he cleaned up from practice. There was a softness in his features as he beheld her. She was rather smitten with it.  
In a way, she could see how girls fell in love with him so often. He was handsome. He made a great effort to be, which was so over the top and pathetic, and she hated to admit it, but it was a job well done.  
She was on her way back to the Gryffindor dorm when Ron ran into her.  
“Mione!” He said excitedly, though not too loud to attract the attention of anyone else. “Mione, come quick. Where have you been? We found it.”  
“Found what?” She asked.  
“The perfect place to meet in secret.”  
He’d made a point to say it quietly so that the statement was only shared between the pair.  
Of course! Training. She’d tried to reread through old Hogwarts: A History version to see if there was anything that yielded a place forgotten by all but the school itself. It was a priority. Well, until Malfoy came along.  
She excitedly embraced him. “Ronald! That’s excellent. Who found it?”  
He gave a lazy smile. She rather liked it on him.  
Ronald was an attractive wizard, in his own way. It was not obvious like Draco Malfoy or that Cormac. He was a more subtle looking wizard with piercing sky-blue eyes and a kind smile. He had red lips that contrasted his peachy flesh. He had normal but nice red hair. There were little bubbles of interest at her throat when she noticed the shine of that smile.  
Godric! Malfoy had her seeing all sorts of things she ignored. Lust, desire, yearning, attractiveness. It was a lower plane of thinking. Genetic predispositions were no basis for quality. Actual work from the person itself was what made a person attractive, not just the things they were given at birth.  
A quizzical look crossed his face. “What’s that for?”  
Oh no. He noticed!  
“Nothing. I’ve just got a load on my mind,” she lied. It was coming far too easy. She wanted to be ashamed. “I am relieved though. Harry needs this.”  
“You’re tellin’ me. Never seen him so happy. It’s like he’s won the House Cup.”  
They started to walk together. It wasn’t too far to walk from the Gryffindor Tower to an empty stretch of hall that opened to a room filled with the mysteries of the castle.  
She gasped. “The Room of Requirement. Of course. Why didn’t I think of it before?”  
Because Malfoy’s taste was so delicious.  
Harry and Ron had notified the list of participants where they’d meet and gathered them all together for the first official gathering. Hermione wringed her hands. If it took too long, Malfoy would notice. What would she tell him?  
The Come and Go Room, or Room of Requirement, was lined with wooden bookcases and instead of chairs there were large silk cushions on the floor. A set of shelves at the far end of the room carried a range of instruments such as Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors, and a large, cracked Foe Glass that Harry was sure had hung, the previous year, in the fake Moody's office. And it was all for their use.  
Harry greeted Hermione with a sly smile. “What do you think?”  
He glanced around, and scratched his head, as he waited her response. Harry was different. She appraised the change in his eyes. Their green was no longer calm in their socket but fixed rather dark. They were sunken in his head. Nights of fitful sleep their culprit. In the light, Hermione swore they reminded her of bruised eyes from a fight.  
She stared too long. He shrugged his shoulders. “Is it a misuse of school property?”  
“Definitely. That’s exactly what we need if we’re going to train. Look at how large our Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom is. It wasn’t made for just reading books,” she said. He sighed in relief.  
They had done it. They’d found the spot in Hogwarts that would keep them unseen.  
During the meeting, when Hermione was able to steal away a moment to herself out of conversation, she tried to breathe. She hadn’t thought just how relieved she’d feel once it happened. The place she needed to learn how to defend herself.  
It would come easy to Harry, being their official leader and all. He knew so much. Experience – horrible experience – prepared him for the horrors that were Voldemort and evil incarnate. Hermione shared in a few, but the mental havoc it played on him. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be prepared.  
There was a tap at her shoulder as their peers talked of naming the group. Ron had broken away from the flow of the conversation and sidled up close to her in her realm of quiet.  
“You never answered my question,” he said bluntly.  
Her eyes popped. “I beg your pardon.”  
“I asked where you were, remember?” He kept his eyes at her face for only a moment before they glanced back to their other best friend, who looked the happiest they’d seen all year long. Harry’s visible glee radiated off him. It encouraged the others to step closer and listen. “You were with Malfoy, weren’t you?”  
The proper answer was silence. Her heart rejected lying to him twice in one day. It hurt. The trusting way he acknowledged her words like gospel only made a lie burn twice as much. Ronald was dear and kind, when he wasn’t busy being an absolute idiot.  
But it was for them that she allowed Malfoy to keep her company in the first place. They were too easily baited into fighting. He was able to draw their wands quicker than Voldemort himself, and that was just first year! Stakes were bigger this year. Bigger than Harry and Ron even realized. They might not have felt it, but she did.  
War was coming.  
The longer Harry stayed at Hogwarts and out of view, the safer it was. Outside the walls of the castle protected by the strongest witches and wizards of the time, he was as good as dead.  
“I already have to watch one of you,” Ronald said with a sigh. “Don’t make me watch you too.”  
She forced a smile that more fractured her esteem than built it. “He needs you more than I do.”  
“What are you doing with him? Really. He can’t be nice to you. I know that. Bloke can’t bully you all these years and just change his mind, can he?”  
If you only knew what changed his mind, she thought.  
To say she wasn’t still dazzled by Draco Malfoy would be a lie. She rushed back to the library to meet him just as they’d agreed. She hated how eager she felt. Her heart fluttered behind the cage of her chest the closer her feet came to the place she knew he’d be. The fallen locks of her curls brushed against her cheeks. They were rather wily. Time out in the wind had feathered out their ends in a fluffy plume. She knotted them back. At least she wouldn’t look out of a wild nature show.  
The library was warm. Scent of firewood filled the air. It was cozy, quiet against the pouring rain. Thunder echoed outside. The rolling gray clouds darkened the windows in the illusion of night.  
She greeted Madame Pince and inquired after new titles, to which the old librarian gave a smile and the same answer she did the day before, which was there would not be any new titles for a time and she’d reach out if there was anything she thought Hermione might like.  
A flash of platinum blonde hair caught the corner of her eye. He retreated to a darkened corner of the library. It was by the volumes of Ministry regulations by year, for the past century. Needless to say, it was not popular. The winged back chairs smelled musty and stiff, as if never once sat in. However, there was the delighted rumor of Malfoy and Pansy using the chair for some thrilling voyeurism. Not that she cared to find out.  
Her feet moved through the aisle of the library until she found him, rigidly sitting and staring at the opening between the shelves.  
She paused. It was difficult to translate his body language into something understandable. Was it anger that she’d bothered him or did his face look extremely tight from exhaustion?  
He leaned back in his seat. The length of his fingers gripped the rests. The very same fingers that ran over her body earlier. She started at them against the dark fabric, which only gave a lighter playful smirk on the Slytherin’s face.  
Hermione flushed slight.  
He produced a book of his own as she settled into the armchair at his side and even watched her adjust her legs to be crossed in the cushion. It looked like curiosity rather than disgust. She took it as acceptance and continued.  
She happily read through her pleasure book, a book she had for pure enjoyment, not education, that she made a point to read at least once per day. It helped her relax. The pressure of studying and learning constant dragged a bit on the other areas of life that she enjoyed. Pleasure reading was the key to her success at Hogwarts. She never let herself get too overwhelmed that she couldn’t kick back with a novel and hot cup of tea to spend an hour wrapped up in a world unlike her own.  
The rainstorm cooled the castle to frigid temperatures. The corridors were seriously drafty. Madame Pince struggled with her circulation, so she overcompensated in the frighteningly stoked fire. It blazed on so that the old witch could warm her toes as she glared at noisy breathers and rule breakers.  
It became uncomfortable in the stifling jumper. She was aware that Malfoy watched her actions closely and bit her lip as she moved as slowly as possible. It took ages for the zipper to reach the bottom without making a sound. Then came the adjustment to remove her shoulders. She’d just started to retract her arm from the sleeve when he cleared his throat.  
“Just take the damn thing off.” His eyes ran through the lines of his book. “Or do you require my assistance?”  
“Hm. I don’t know. Would you stop with just my jumper?”  
It was a bit crass. For her tastes. But it finally raised his eyes from the page.  
She bit back a cheeky grin as she pulled the jumper from her body and slung it over her lap. He went back to his reading as she did. Neither said a word.  
The library was an uneventful place. It was a sanctuary to find a bit of peace to complete assignments and search for answers to some unasked question. Hermione spent many days, nights, afternoons, breaks, within the four walls. It was another piece of her heart that was home at Hogwarts.  
It was a different place with Draco Malfoy. Apparently, it was social hour.  
Pansy and Daphne and Theo found them tucked away, thanks to Crabbe and Goyle. She scowled at the sound of the shrieking tone of Pansy Parkinson. She shrunk down in her seat with the hopes of being avoided.  
“Can’t keep away from fond memories, can you, Draco?” The witch smiled her little crooked smile.  
Hermione heard Malfoy sigh. “If they’re something you remember, they aren’t fond. Not for me.”  
“Ah. Surely you remember this corner. That seat your mudblood is in,” she said, still managed to make Hermione excluded whilst being included.  
“She means the day you guys humped in here.” Daphne sniffed. “By the looks of this place, I’d guess the chair hasn’t been cleaned since then either.”  
Without thought, Hermione leapt to her feet. It brought a rather annoyed glance from Malfoy.  
“That is not what happened.” It was a very stern tone. “Not that I’d expect a witch of your reputation to keep all her liaisons separate. Must be difficult with the hundreds of wizards there are straight.”  
Pansy narrowed her eyes rather sharply. “Watch it. Just because you want to show off for your pet doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that.”  
“Why, why. That’s a first.” He sneered. “A slag insulted by name.”  
“Hey!” Pansy pointed her jeweled finger.  
Theo and Daphne shared a look. Hermione felt incredibly awkward amongst the drama of their own house. She didn’t broadcast Gryffindor business in front of others and wouldn’t tolerate it for any other house either.  
She reached back for her jumper. “I’ll just be going…”  
“Oh, no. You don’t.” Malfoy grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her back down to his seat. “Now, Pansy. You almost scared my pet away.”  
“I don’t give a damn about your stupid mudblood pet.”  
“Then why are you so adamant that I be done with her?”  
The witch stomped her foot. “Because I care about you. Whether you like to admit or not, you cared about me too.”  
He chuckled harshly. “So it’s my fault that you cheated on and dumped me for some Dumstrang wizard who in turn dumped you. It’s all my game to make you jealous, is it?”  
“Yes. You know this shit isn’t you. A mudblood pet. Granger. You’re spiraling and I’m trying to save you,” she said. “Don’t be a proud prat. Let me help you.”  
She then turned on Hermione with a venom in her voice. “You don’t belong here. You’re nothing but his little trophy he hopes to use to avoid any real difficulty. The whole castle knows how eager you are to please a wizard. It’s why Potter and Weasley had you, wasn’t it? They weren’t actually interested in all your books and essays and cute little wand tricks. You’re just another mudblood whore to them. To us. To the whole world, really.”  
That was way harsher than Pansy ever went. It was a deep-down wound that pierced the pumping flesh of her heart. Hermione was overtaken with anger and mortification. The sticky hot mess of the library, the collection of their eyes as they watched her boil, it suffocated her throat. She couldn’t breathe. All her clothes restricted her. They clung to her flesh with needy hands.  
She needed out.  
Abandoning her jumper, she jumped out of Malfoy’s chair and rushed out the library before she could allow them to see her cry. The bloody tears brought on by someone who meant nothing to her but another annoyance to fade out. Why had she let Pansy get to her?  
Hermione wiped beneath her eyes. Their burn from decades of dust eased with the growing tears. She scowled her hardest. It helped withhold the urge to bawl out in the open hallway.  
The cold drafts of the castle discolored her arms. Lines of goosebumps cascaded down the back of her arms as she hugged herself tight. Out of the protection of the over ambitious fireplace, the rest of Hogwarts was chilly as it often was. She’d hastily left her jumper back in the library, and there was no way she was going to Gryffindor Tower with tears in her eyes. One look and Harry would see red.  
Stupid Pansy. Stupid Malfoy.  
It was all his fault. If he hadn’t started this weird game, Pansy wouldn’t have gotten the clear opening to humiliate her in front of everyone. Why hadn’t he said anything? She was his pet, wasn’t she? He was bound by some moral code, or whatever he’d been enforcing, to protect her.  
Perhaps that was more of what she was shocked by. Him.  
Pansy said awful things all the time. It was the only thing that came out of her mouth. But Malfoy. He’d kissed her, healed her, snogged her. Everything she did was protected by two of his favorite goons, who even in her pathetic storm out, followed her through the castle like their foot scuffs weren’t audible. What the hell did he even want from her?  
He said a pet. Hermione concluded that was not true. Despite that one day where he demanded that she wait on him in the quad with all his friends around, he hadn’t asked her services for anything. All he did was spend time with her. They studied and read and did assignments. There was the occasional meal that he brought her over to the Slytherin table which always brought on quite a scene in the Great Hall, which she suspected was the point. He wanted everyone to know it.  
Had no one known about the very verbal past of Malfoy and her, it’d be quite obvious they were friends. That was too simple for Malfoy. There was always another plot afoot. He knew about the DA. He’d made a point to tell her that he did. It was a chance at glory if he discovered their private training and turn them in to Umbridge. But that was after. The DA hadn’t been a thing when he first approached her.  
Hermione found herself at the door of the Prefect’s Bath on the fifth floor. As usual, it was quiet when she entered. It was rarely used. Except for the magnificent bathtub. It was sunken deep in the floor with an array of faucets, golden and jeweled.  
She tapped the faucets and out steamed a purple colored water scented with violets. It rose in steamy clouds as the water ascended the walls of the sunken floor until it reached the tip top. Her feet pushed aside the bath oils and other personal hygiene products in a space just large enough for her to sit on the edge.  
Shoes removed, socks folded and placed securely in said shoes, Hermione placed her legs into the frothy warm water. The chill of her toes was chased away with the burning fury of heat.  
A deep breath allowed a few small tears to escape from her restraint, and she suddenly felt much better. The violet helped, too. Her lungs filled with the dense fog of calm and exhaled all the bullshit of her life if only to be breathed back in again to terrorize her all over.  
When Voldemort came back, she felt a panic begin within the recesses of her mind where she often pushed nonessential thoughts to when she was not ready or bored enough to live with them. It stayed in the black. She focused upon Harry. His survival meant the world, literally. She never allowed Voldemort’s success a moment in her head. The loss was too great.  
Now that it was very possible that Voldemort might rise higher than he ever was, Hermione permitted the thoughts of what might come if he killed Harry. Many would be killed, too, of course. The entire Order of the Phoenix would be hunted and slaughtered. That was a certainty. It was a fallacy to believe their underground identities wouldn’t be discovered. She never bought in to underground being the solution forever.  
Death came to those in wait.  
She’d never stop fighting. That was why the DA was so invaluable. Her life would come to depend on those spells and the ones that knew them would be the first ones to fall under enemy fire.  
But. Hermione had heard rumors. Mere mentions in dark alleys and hidden intelligence that Voldemort had plans for some. A list of witches and wizards needed, _ alive_.  
There was a dark plan that awaited those on that list filled with horrors beyond imagination. If she were Voldemort, the most dangerous ones to keep controlled would be on the list. Powers that, if turned against him, would have him fall.  
More than she felt in her life, she knew. Her name was on that list.


	12. Chapter 12

### CHAPTER 13

#### Oh, darling. You’ve Gone Red. 

Hermione arrived later to breakfast than normal. Drogon had dragged out a black jumper from somewhere and wouldn’t rest until she took it with her. Each time she removed it, he put it right back in her satchel. It went on for fifteen minutes whilst all her roommates complained of the incessant meowing. Finally, she caved when Lavender tossed a pillow.  
Gryffindor was a sleepy table. Their heads were sunken. Voices quiet. It took a while for the lions to fully roar awake. Harry and Ron were lucky to make it in time to snag a bite of something before class.  
The Slytherins, on the other hand, were in their full swing. They chatted with smiles as they ate off plates brimmed with fresh foods. Draco Malfoy was in his usual place. He chatted with a Slytherin she recognized from the Pitch. What was missing from his space was the usual high-pitched squeal of that pig Pansy Parkinson.   
The embarrassment of Pansy’s statement was washed away the night before. Hermione hardly cared if the witch thought of her as a whore. She wasn’t one. That was the truth and that’s all Hermione needed.  
Through the crowd, she spotted the ebony black hair down on the other end, nearer the younger Slytherins. They stared with their wide little eyes as she ate silently.   
A small, shallow vein of satisfaction twisted Hermione’s mouth with a smile. She had to enjoy the little things. It looked like karma found its way to the bitch after all.  
She made her way toward the deserted table of burgundy and gold when a sharp echoing whistle split the room. For whatever reason, it halted her steps.   
The Great Hall was not a place of epic scenes in the morning. Some acknowledged the sound with a wince while others continued to stare at their places with a faraway look in their eyes.   
Hermione Granger glanced at the Slytherin table, where, sure enough, Malfoy stared. His hand was gestured toward the seat at his side. Crabbe and Goyle were late risers. It was possible they weren’t awake yet to corral her.   
It was just lucky that she was not in the mood to fight him. She wanted to eat and start her day on a pleasant note.   
She walked the lonely distance of the Slytherin table until she reached the section of the fifth years. The open seat was hers. She took it without an ounce of hesitation. The ease of the transition from Hermione Granger, Gryffindor to Granger, Slytherin pet was frightening.  
Malfoy continued a tired-out discussion of his mother’s Christmas parties. They took place every year. _The Daily Prophet_ reported the gala every year with detailed pictures of the decorations and those in attendance. It was the red carpet of wizarding society purebloods. A practical list of Death Eater compadres and Voldemort sympathizers.  
Her ears were piqued with interest as to whom Malfoy mentioned he dreaded seeing – one whom spilled brandy on his new imported shoes! The horror! – and the odd withdrawn nature of the witches.  
Plates atop the Slytherin table were spread out, as they were with every House table. Hermione felt a discomfort in asking for what she desired, the plates nearest being picked through for their warmest and best contents, so she picked at some fruit and ate them quietly. Her tea was hot. That was most important.  
“Here.” A plate was thrust to her face. Grapes dropped from her fingers as she reached out to take it.   
“Um, thanks.” Hermione didn’t know what to make of it.  
The Slytherin witch, of wavy blonde locks and thick rimmed glasses, shrugged. “The boys clean out the plates this section of the table. You’ll never get anything if you sit next to them.”  
Near Ronald Weasley at a table, it was much the same. That kid had a knack for eating. He wasn’t picky either. He grinned at a plate of chicken drumsticks as he did beans and toast.   
“I’m Daphne.” The witch gave a soft, yet inquisitive smile.   
“Right. Nice to meet you. I’m, well, Granger to you lot.”  
The witch wrinkled her nose. “Do you mind? I’m not for all that last name pretension. It reeks entirely of the classless.”  
Hermione’s head bobbed as she swallowed a crumble of a muffin. “Of course. Hermione is fine with me.”  
A levelheaded witch in Slytherin. What a treat!  
Daphne Greengrass was a faceless witch in the background of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson’s reign of Slytherin terror. There was no moment Hermione could recall the sound of her voice or the bounce of her glasses at she wiggled her leg. She dressed plainly, same as Hermione, with looser trousers and jumper, with a necktie just below its proper height. Her hair was tied at the base of her skull, loosely. Strands of her light hair spread through the dark weave of jumper.  
The witch had three friendship bracelets twisted around her wrist. Plus, a thick gaudy brown leather split in the center by a large silver tree. Her hands had little drawings of black ink between her fingers.  
There were astrological symbols, like the phases of the moon and some stars. A few lightening bolts. A simple heart with a twisted curl at the base. One was an intricate anchor crafted of navy-blue ink rather than the black.   
“We have potions together,” Daphne stated.  
Really? “Yeah. Gryffindor and Slytherin have potion together. I remember.”  
“You and Ron and Harry have to fight over who is counted out.” It was not a question. She said it like a statement, to point out some underlying truth that Hermione could not figure out. Did she seek to draw attention to Harry and Ron? Was it a question over why they switched?   
Hermione swallowed her confusion with an unbothered tone. “Yes, well. Threesomes are unfairly broken sometimes.”  
“Malfoy changed partners and I don’t want to have Goyle as mine.” She pulled at the bundle of bracelets on her wrist. “It would be easier on both of us if we paired up.”  
That was news.   
Malfoy was the second best in the class. Who would want to lose him as a partner? He did impeccable work. His grade was close to hers.   
She leaned forward, very interested. “Pansy and Malfoy aren’t partners anymore? Why would she do that?”  
“Pet.” Malfoy’s elbow nudged her gently.   
Daphne gave her a knowing look and shifted away when Malfoy demanded Hermione’s attention. She twisted back toward him.  
“Hm?” She said softly.  
“We should study in the Great Hall today instead of the library,” he suggested casually. “During our free period.”  
News of the separation of Pansy and Malfoy as potions partners was still fresh. She didn’t know what to think. Was it Pansy’s idea to break things off? That was impossible. Malfoy had the second-best grade in the class. Who would ever risk their grade like that? Even if they were fighting over their breakup.   
Hermione was giddy, though, that she learned of the intimacy of their breakup. Pansy cheated. Malfoy hated her for that. He wanted nothing to do with her. That meant that he was moved on with his feelings for her. Possibly extinct emotions. Her heart thudded to a wild beat as she struggled to even out her breath. The logical assumption was that Malfoy was not jealous of Pansy and he certainly did not need a way to get back at her. He’d like to be rid of her. Which meant…it was entirely rational for his emotions for Hermione to be real. He kissed her like he meant it. They lounged around each other with surprising comfort.   
Things were not as she originally planned. That was clear.   
Her eyes grew wide as Ginny’s cute little face popped in her head with those words she’d hated to hear. Malfoy had feelings. Whatever they were, they were there. He wanted to possess her. Control her. All other wizards had to leave her alone. It was practically in front of her face.   
Malfoy liked her.  
Even now there was a softness in his features when he _suggested_ not demanded they study in the Great Hall. Hermione was given the option to debate the suggestion if she wanted. He was pliable. Flexible.  
What. The. Bloody. Hell.  
“Sure. The Great Hall sounds great.”  
Did it though? She preferred the library because it was a forced quiet. It was easier to focus. Plus, books. And everything about books was positive in her mind.   
He watched her wrap both of her hands around her teacup as she sipped. His eyes narrowed slightly.  
Malfoy was next to her face the next instant. “Curious. I never pictured you to be nervous at breakfast time. What’s got you all in a twist?”  
“Don’t play coy, you sod,” was what she wanted to say. Wanted.  
Instead what she said was, “Potions. I’ve got a new partner and I don’t think my friends will approve.”  
His face twisted to a smirk. “A new partner in Potions, eh? Wouldn’t happen to be a Slytherin, would it?”  
She placed her teacup lightly in it’s matching saucer. “It would. Daphne asked me and I accepted.”  
“Daphne?” His brow twitched. His eyes glanced over her shoulder at the witch alongside her. “Doesn’t like the prospect of a new partner, does she?”  
“Seeing as the options are Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and you, I’d suspect not.”  
“Like you wouldn’t jump at the chance to be my partner,” he snickered.  
She felt a rise in her. The opportunity was just there for her to reap.   
“You must have me confused for someone who likes to stroke…your ego.”  
A silent stir came to Malfoy as he sat there alongside his peers. His eyes turned to burning flames that she knew were laced with desire. Did he want to push her into that wall and snog her lungs out? Probably.  
His eyes shuttered to her parted, pouty lips she made extra red from biting. “Mm. And where might I find a witch that doesn’t mind a bit of stroking? The library perhaps?”  
She had to tear her gaze away to withhold the lust from pouring out. Instead she focused upon her teacup once again as she pulled the cool cup toward her mouth, steam hot in her face, lips caressed the edge.   
“From what I heard, the Great Hall.”  
He smirked. “I’ll see you then.”  
Hermione had a smile the whole day. She went through her classes with a noticed enthusiasm that her friends beheld with questionable gazes. The shimmery glint in her eye didn’t diminish when Umbridge made the offhand comment that she preferred elves with ‘leashes round their filthy little necks’, though Hermione fingered her wand in it’s place. She still wore her S.P.E.W. badge proudly.   
Her friends were lightened by her joy. They smiled more than they had all year long. It was a refreshing change to the depression tone of Hogwarts since the Tri-Wizard tournament, Cedric’s death and the rise of Voldemort. Of course there was Umbridge. No one was too happy with her around.  
Still, she couldn’t let the weight of the whole world stamp out her brilliant mood. It was a rare find. She let it use her as it willed before it left, and she returned a nervous, anxious, frustrated witch.  
Potions came swiftly. She was ready for the stir it’d cause in the Gryffindor House. She held her chin high as she took a seat next to Daphne, on the Slytherin side. Neville’s bottom jaw dropped.  
Daphne Greengrass smiled. She grabbed out her Potions text and placed it in line with Hermione’s atop their shared table. The witch asked after Hermione’s day which she reciprocated in polite curtesy. They talked softly to themselves as the rest of their houses filtered in, eyeing them very directly. Gryffindor was not subtle in its shock. Their mouths hanged low.  
Slytherin was surprised but had become accustomed to her presence thanks to Malfoy. Pansy was the most haunted by the fact that Hermione crossed the lines. Her eyes grew twice their size, jaw clenched shut, and her feet slammed against the stone floor until she reached Goyle’s desk and tossed down her things in a very obvious hissy fit.   
At her side, Daphne snickered quietly.   
Then stumbled in Ron and Harry. Ronald moved to an open desk on the Gryffindor side of the class. It was different for Harry who’d noticed her placement. He remained fixed in the aisle with his eyes on her, with question. She forced a smile. It hurt to see his confusion.  
There was a noted sigh. “Come on, mate.” It was Ron’s low mumble.  
Draco Malfoy strode through the classroom with an all too delighted look on his face. It was to taunted Harry. She glared very sharply at his stupid face.   
Daphne shoved her shoulder. “Ignore the wizards, Hermione.”  
“If I can get along with both of them, then they could at least pretend to get along. Or for Godric’s sake, ignore the other. Why must they go through this charade?”  
“They’re wizards. Think of them like cats. Each one has a scent mark on you and their vying to fight over whose is more dominant. Draco or Harry. Who has the bigger wand, so to speak. Since you’re not a bleeding cat and can make your own choices, they’ve got to do this awkward dance to see whom you’re subtly choosing more.”  
“Honestly, that’s just barmy.”  
“Duh,” Daphne enunciated clearly.  
A dark wraith entered the damp classroom. The candles heightened their glow. Shadows grew against the thick stone walls. Coldness sank through the room once the door of the class was closed shut; the warmth of the corridor was all that gave a bearable temperature.   
Hermione shivered. She pulled her robes closer to her body. The dungeons were so cold. How did the Slytherin’s live in it all year long?  
“Miss Granger,” said the wraith of flowing black: Professor Snape. He favored the darker colors just as Malfoy did. It was all he wore.  
“Yes, sir.”  
His dark eyes examined her with a pointed edge. It stabbed through her confidence. Her joy of the day was punctured and drained slowly.  
The silence of the room gaped the hole open deeper.   
“Has your inflated ego grown since we’ve last met that you intend to take over the Slytherin’s with your insufferable sense of self or have you had a sudden change of heart?” It was said with a nasty tone. It implied that she desired to disrupt her classmates by invading their space. Which was an outright lie.  
Pansy Parkinson snickered at the professor’s statement. The rest of Slytherin remained quiet.  
The lack of reaction had the professor twitch the thin brow above his eyes. Black eyes landed at Draco. It was not a secret that Draco and Pansy ran their peers. While one had laughed, the other stayed silent.  
It was not beyond the notice of their Head of House when all the Slytherins accepted Hermione within their ranks. He had to have noticed. Draco was a star in his house. A diva. Everything gravitated toward him. Including teachers. Professor Snape knew that she was in the ranks of Slytherin quite commonly.   
“I am with my potions partner, professor.”  
She felt Ron and Harry’s eyes on her. In fact, they were accompanied with all the Gryffindors. She fought the threat of a blush. One weakness and the professor would slaughter her until she rejoined her ranks.  
“I see,” Professor Snape said coolly.  
The quiet settled his debate. Hermione guessed he’d wanted to cause a stir within Slytherin, perhaps let them have a few quick jabs at a muggleborn in their House, before he commanded her back and withdrew points for disrupting class. The outcome was much nicer.   
He gained his stride once more as he spoke of the upcoming segment of their class. It covered venom antidotes, which Hermione was keen to learn. Venom was almost always deadly unless treated with an antidote. It was easy enough to stumble upon a plant or animal with a venom. She deemed it a necessary skill to learn. Practical to know thoroughly.  
There was a wild chance that Ronald or Harry might need a venom antidote. Actually, now that she considered it, it was a miracle they hadn’t needed one already.   
“Fresh ingredients make a more potent brew,” the professor revealed. “That is why. Today. We will find a wild grow of one of our ingredients and each pick a week’s worth of the ingredient for our class. Each pair will be responsible for their own ingredients. Fail to collect enough will result in failure of the lesson. No exceptions.”  
The class remained silent.   
“As for how we are to find them,” his lips suddenly curled at the corner, “the class shall be in charge of finding and identifying the plant. None shall be picked until a clear identification is done. Failure to find, identify, and secure a patch large enough for the entire class with result in failure. For the entire class.”  
That was quite a punishment. There was no way to know for sure if there were even patches large enough for the entire class, much less finding them. The Hogwarts school grounds were massive. Acres upon acres.   
It was just lucky that Neville was a Gryffindor. He loved Herbology. He was bound to know locations on school grounds where the plants might grow wild. At least, he better. Or else all the time he spent in the greenhouse was useless.  
The class bundled up their bags and satchels and jumpers and followed the professor out of the heavy wooden doors into the blistery green of the school grounds. It was a windy day. Dreary, too.   
Daphne and Hermione walked together through the wave. Neither knew where to look to find the wild grows. Daphne said Herbology was her least favorite class. It wasn’t Hermione’s least favorite (divination took that place), but it was not her strongest either.   
Ron and Harry lined themselves with the girls and started to ask if Hermione had gloves. She sighed.  
“I swear if your heads weren’t attached…” she rummaged through her bag.  
“We know. We’d have lost them by now,” Harry replied.  
“It’s not our fault,” Ron pointed out. “If he’d have told us we were going outside, I might have brought mine.”  
She transfigured a few of her things into gloves for her friends. They thanked her quietly and slid them on their hands.   
“It wouldn’t hurt you to carry them,” she snipped. “It is autumn after all.”  
“Or magically thread them into the sleeves of your robes,” Daphne offered.  
The two Gryffindor wizard’s eyes bulged. They seemed to have forgotten Hermione had a new potions partner. A Slytherin. It was a rare occurrence to have polite conversation with a Slytherin. Not even rare. It’d never happened.  
Ron averted his eyes from Daphne. Hermione watched it rather curiously. What was that for?  
“Is that what you do, Daphne?” Hermione asked lightly, in an attempt to keep the conversation going and her boys not so nervous.  
Daphne’s thick glasses fell down her face. She pushed them up quickly. “Not me. My younger sister could never keep track of anything so my mum would magically stitch her gloves and scarf to her coat so they’d always be there when she needed them. Course, she was four then.”  
A light blush tinted Harry and Ron’s noses.   
“What a brilliant idea,” Hermione said.  
They spoke with as much effort as had ever been witnessed before. For some reason, Harry and Ron had to force the words out. It was odd since herself and Daphne were at ease. But the two wizards stumbled around a conversation rather awkwardly. Harry would let sentences die right in the middle, without an ending. Then was Ronald. He’d speak so softly that they’d ask ten times what he said. It was embarrassing. Hermione thought to smack some sense into their head when Daphne’s attention was snared by something else other than her friends.  
“Here.” A voice split the air. Everyone knew who it belonged to. “Dittony.”  
Malfoy stood by his find. The dark robes of the professor fluttered in the wind as he appraised the Dittony patch.   
It looked the part. Plus, it was large in size. The class would easily have enough for their potions.  
“Excellent, Mister Malfoy. You’ve found a proper grow,” Professor Snape proclaimed. “Your class is blessed to have a populated grow so close to the castle.”  
Scotland took a bit of pity upon the students outside in its weather. Clouds parted overhead. As the students descended to the Dittony, a ray of sunshine warmed their skin. Hermione relished to splash of warmth through the bland stretch of cold lawn.   
Daphne and Hermione took the opposite end to start their collection. Just before she bent her knee, Hermione looked around to take stock of the class. Malfoy was at the opposite end. They caught each other’s eye for a moment.   
“What are you doing with Draco?” Daphne suddenly asked.  
Hermione gasped. “Pardon?”  
Had she seen their eye contact? Did she suspect something?   
“You’re smarter than this. Whatever it is. You have to have at least three ways to get rid of him, and that is just a bare minimum. Knowing you, you’ve thought of ten,” the witch said. “So why are you still here?”  
Goodness. That was not a question she was prepared for. Hermione ran her hands down her pants although the sweat in her palms was contained by her gloves. Her heart jumped to a thundering pace and a heat came to her under arms.   
The blonde witch paused her collection and appraised her. “Do you like him?”  
“What?” Hermione breathed.  
“Do you fancy him?”  
“That’s preposterous.”  
She was suddenly aware of her voice. It sounded so shrill and emotional.   
“I know,” Daphne stated. “But that doesn’t make it any less possible.”  
Hermione focused her eyes on the dittony. Pick. Pick. Pick the dittony.   
“Yes. It does. Gryffindors and Slytherins don’t mix.”  
“He doesn’t seem to think so.” Her eyes motioned upward where Malfoy obviously watched them as he worked and then shoved Neville out of the way. Hermione refused to stare. Her eyes went right back down to her foraging. Wasn’t class more important that boys?   
Her only reply was, “That’s mental.”  
“Aren’t all wizards?” Daphne snickered.   
It was a sign from Merlin himself when Ron waltzed up not a second later, hands in his pockets, an awkward stance to his build. She near felt her jaw fall from her mouth as he stood there.  
“Hey Mione,” he said. His eyes then turned to the witch at her side. He then cleared his throat, hands still shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched high. “Daphne, right?”  
She nodded. “And you’re Ron.”  
Then. He smiled. It was small, not toothy or overzealous. Just natural.   
It was freaky.   
“Right.”  
Hermione brushed the grass and pieces of dittony leaves from her robes as she stood. “Daphne hated us to fight over partners, so she offered to be mine for potions.”  
His head bobbed. Like he understood.  
“Oi. You like Quidditch?”  
The blonde witch nodded and said she watched every match.  
“I play soon, you know. Wait. Well, you probably know that. I play for Gryffindor. Keeper.”  
It was painful to watch the witch blink and say, “Why would I know that?”  
It took all the wind out of Ron’s sails. A sure sign of panic crossed his face.  
“Right. Well. See you around,” he said and walked off.  
Hermione went after him. “What is the matter with you? You’re acting like you’ve never talked before.”  
She rubbed his shoulder gently. It used to help ease his worries. Though it did little to help this time.  
“I can’t do this. It’s too much pressure,” he said frantically. “I’m going to resign.”  
“It’s only a game, Ronald.”  
Ron suddenly pointed a finger. “You know the whole school sees them. None of them forget a thing. I can’t handle it. They all look at me and wish me luck. Luck? I need a bloody miracle to beat Slytherin.”  
She frowned. It was so sad to see him a mess like that.   
“It’s going to be alright,” she said. Her arms wrapped around him in an embrace. “You’ll do great. Just keep focused and don’t lose your nerve.”  
“Yeah.” He swallowed. It did not convince her that he was calmed.  
What else could she say?  
“Oh! And trust your stomach. Or was it your intestines? Oh well. Trust whatever digestive organ that helps you make decisions.”  
He groaned and rubbed his palms into his eyes. “It’s your gut, Mione. Trust your gut.”  
“Gut isn’t a proper term for anything specific.”  
“I know.” He sighed with a soft chuckle. “So you’ve said.”  
The class started to disperse from the dittony. Half were already on their way back to the castle.   
Harry waved at both his friends. “Hermione. Ron. Let’s go.”  
They hurried after him. Both smiled a bit. Perhaps her words of encouragement helped. She walked arm in arm with Harry and Ron as they rattled off excitement over lunch. Ron was starving. Hermione herself was left hungry from breakfast with the Slytherins. Harry avoided breakfast altogether and was famished by the time the meal rolled around.   
It felt the first time in a long time that Hogwarts was like years before. They smiled and laughed and joked and ate. Neville joined them. Ginny was there, too. Seamus and Dean invited themselves inside the conversation halfway through and never left after that.  
There was talk of Quidditch, which Ron remained quiet. Then it turned to Viktor Krum, his professional Quidditch team being ‘one of the best’ in all of history which Hermione thought was exaggerated. Somehow it turned to a party plan in the Gryffindor tower after the match which they all declared Gryffindor a winner. Hermione pointed out that the Slytherin team was rather good. There was no way to know for certain that they’d win. It was answered with a table full of angry glares. She digressed from it all together.  
It was a losing battle to fight with the whole of Gryffindor over the nature of games. Some are won. Some lost. That was inevitable. And after firsthand witnessing the collection of the Slytherin team, Hermione knew it would be a fight for the best.   
After lunch, the boys disappeared to their Quidditch practice which had to be done elsewhere since Slytherin had the Pitch reserved almost every day until the match. Hermione went to her dorm, collected her study materials, gave Drogon a treat, and headed down to meet Malfoy in the Great Hall.  
She joined him at the Slytherin table. He never sat at the Gryffindor table. Ever.  
Malfoy had the same books as she. Hers were placed next to his.  
“Great minds think alike, eh?” She was in a great mood and didn’t try to hide it.  
Life was great. She had the DA, Harry was back to normal, and she had snog sessions with Malfoy. It was all the best. Pansy was low on the Slytherin totem pole, magically put back in her place and Daphne was a new acquaintance that she actually enjoyed.   
Of course, there was the dilemma of Malfoy’s feelings. Hermione opted for a little denial. She pushed those thoughts away with a happy smile on her face. Into the shadows they went.  
“Gee, pet. You seem rather cheerful. Anyone in particular been cheering you up lately?” His voice was less pleasant than she expected.  
“Being as I am your pet, wouldn’t you be the one responsible?” She grinned.  
Malfoy’s shoulders eased in their sockets. “What the hell is with you, Granger?”  
“What?” She shrugged. “I’m happy. You’ve seen me happy before.”  
He blinked. “Not like this.”  
“Then you should be celebrating,” she said with a teasing brow.  
“How do you figure?”  
It was not nearly the same amount of fun when he wasn’t in a similar mood. He’d been so just that morning. What had changed since then?   
“I’ve finally adjusted to that massive ego of yours and have thrived,” she teased. When he didn’t smile, she rolled her eyes. “What is with you? You were all playful this morning at breakfast with the hilarious assumption I’d stroke anything of yours and now you’re pouting.”  
His face scrunched. “I am not pouting.”  
Hermione sighed and conceded. Whatever his deal was, she wouldn’t feed it. She dipped her quill to ink and started to scratch in a legible scrawl about the benefits of venom antidotes and their various techniques of brewing.   
Malfoy had continued his own work but paused. “I don’t seem to remember you believing it hilarious at breakfast.”  
Her eyes popped up instantly. He remained focused on his work. His hand moved fluidly over the paper, perfectly calligraphy as he wrote out his own potion’s assignment.   
“If I recall, you were open it.”  
Her eyebrows near flew off her face. “_Open_?”  
Malfoy smirked. “I’d been under the impression a bit of privacy and you’d have warmed to the idea quickly.”  
Apparently, the mood had been asleep.  
“You must have me mistaken,” she gasped. “For a witch who is swayed by the tides of your changing moods.”  
“Are you not?”  
The way he said it. It made her stop.   
She remembered that tone from the locker room out at the Pitch. It was vulnerable and tense. That way made her insides melt with unhinged desire she hated to be fed, but loved the way it felt with a sharp hunger  
Hermione lowered her voice. “Only a little.”  
His smile consumed his face even as he worked. It was a delicious sight of brilliant white teeth lined in a shapely mouth. His lips were thin and pale but expressed him so animatedly. She was drawn to that part of him. Where all his walls dropped down to the fun, teasing, arrogant inside who kissed and held her and made her laugh.   
They worked on the assignments with their typical rhythm. He started using her ink at the same time as her, so they had to fight over it. In the midst of it, her quill dragged across the back of his hand to which he responded by poking her forearm. His ink made a large black dot.  
She playfully narrowed her eyes as she dipped her quill in the ink. He smirked down from his entitled height with a familiar crinkle to his eyes. Yet he allowed the fight to cease and the homework to continue.  
An owl flew through the Hall not long after. The large midnight black owl dropped a package to the table. It stepped over to Malfoy’s side and rubbed its beak against his cheek.   
Hermione giggled behind her hand as he tried to avoid the animal’s clear affection of him.  
He fed the owl a piece of a biscuit and off it flew.  
The package was stuffed full of wrapped treats, little sweets and various things for his pet cat. He left the contents spilled in the center as he opened the letter.  
It held a dainty, gentle, proper handwriting.   
Draco Malfoy raised the letter to his face and read through the lines of black ink. His fingers flexed once. Hermione stole a glance at his face. It was not cheery. In fact, it was tense.   
Her eyes caught a glimpse of the writing. There within the writing was the word “girlfriend” and “mudblood”.   
She focused back to her work with a struggle to keep her eyes a normal size. A letter from Draco’s mother about her, a muggleborn, Gryffindor witch she thought as his girlfriend. It was only for her imagination what it said about her.  
If his mother knew, Lucius was well aware of it, too.   
Her intestines twisted in discomfort as she sat there with a great intensity upon her homework. She felt a dribble of sweat fall down her spine. The cheer that once filled her entire being was now anxiety.   
Thoughts flew through her at millions of kilometers a second as she tried to sort through. Did he tell them? Did they learn from some outside source? Did they approve of his mudblood pet? If they did, what was the point?   
Wait. What if it was their instruction that led him to entrap her as his personal pet?  
Hermione Granger was reminded of Voldemort. The Malfoy’s – Lucius in particular – were known followers and close at hand to the Dark Lord’s wishes. There were darker plans afoot. Malfoy must have been made a part of them.  
She scooted to the back edge of her seat, the farther she could manage to get away from him.  
Out the corner of her eye, she noticed something. His fingers. They pushed the sweet treats forward. Toward her. Their shiny cellophane wrappers were atop her parchment.  
His eyes continued to scan through the letter’s contents. When he finally set it down, his face was not so playful. Their banter was over. As was her cheery mood.  
“Bad news?” She asked in the hopes of seeming ignorant of the letter and it’s upset.   
“Hm?” He roused from whatever thought he’d had. “Uh, no. Just usual questions from a boy’s mother. Am I studying? Am I having fun? She can’t wait to hear about my first Quidditch match.”  
It was so convincing that Hermione almost believed him.   
He pushed another sweet forward. She looked at him with question.  
“I’ve got loads from her already,” he explained.  
She took a single piece. Malfoy rolled his eyes.  
“Take them all, pet. They’re for you.”  
There were so many candies she had to stow them in her satchel. She hadn’t much of a sweet tooth. The treats might last her an entire year.   
Her fingers landed on a piece of fabric when she’d put the last of the sweets away. She’d almost forgotten. A blush burned her face as she pulled the black jumper out and placed it on the table.  
The white embroidered dragon was right at the chest, visible in the position she laid it. His eyes noticed it casually.  
“If you wanted access to my bedchamber, all you had to do was ask.”  
Hermione bit her lip and tucked a piece of hair away. “Drogon dragged it up the staircase. I don’t know where he found it.”  
He smirked. “Brightest witch of the age and that’s the story you’ve come up with? Pathetic, Granger. I expected more.”  
“The truth isn’t a story. He really did bring it to me.”  
Malfoy shrugged. “Then he wanted it to be yours.”  
Like homework was more important than a returned article of clothing from an opposite sex friend, Malfoy turned back to his parchment and reading his textbook. Hermione’s resolve to stay calm in the light of shock was overcome. Her jaw practically dislocated.  
Through fallen strands of his straight blonde hair, she saw him appraise her.  
She groaned through a chuckle. “I hate you,” she said softly. “You planned this. You gave it to Drogon so that I’d have to return it so you could make a quip. Go on. Don’t be shy.”  
“Well you just ruin the fun when you point it out, pet.”  
“You’re unbelievable.”  
“Admit it. You like the idea of wearing my things,” he said. “Now that you call yourself one of them.”  
Hermione hid the shame on her face with her hand.   
“Go on, pet. Don’t be shy. Tell me how you like being called one of my things.”  
She shook her head. “I’ve never said such a ridiculous thing.”  
His eyes narrowed. “You’re such a bloody liar.”  
“Am not!” She gasped.  
“Don’t play innocent, Granger. Higgs told me what you said to him.” There was no containing the pleasure on his face. It ate her up. She wanted to run out all the anxiety she felt, knowing just how vulnerable she felt. She’d made herself one of his ‘pureblood’ things. It was possible he’d punish her for it. But the devilish look in his eye said different. “Go on. Say it. Tell me what you said.”  
Her hands clamped over her cheeky grin. “Never,” she declared from behind.  
“Oh, darling. You’ve gone red. Could it be, me, that’s gotten you all in a stir?”  
If she’d thought her jaw dislocated before, it was definitely snapped then. He was teasing her! But less in a mean way, and more in a…playful way? He enjoyed it. His lips couldn’t stop smiling.   
Pride? Victory? Triumph?  
He danced his eyebrow as she stared, unwilling to show the embarrassment and glee in her features. But as he made another face, she chortled loudly.  
Malfoy ate up the expression. “If only I could take a photograph…”  
“I’d know what you’d do with it,” she taunted.  
It was his time to be surprised. The pleasure jumped to pure disbelief. It opened up the opportunity to laugh at his face. Which she took full advantage of.  
“_Oh, darling. You’ve gone red_,” she mocked lightly.  
He tried his best to hide his smile in false anger. She saw right through it.  
“Loosen up, pet. Don’t you like the idea of me knowing what you’d do with my picture?” She dared say.   
The statement was past the mark of what she’d usually feel comfortable saying in his presence, but she needed to loosen a little. This way, it made him anxious too.  
Malfoy recovered like the raised gentlemen he was born to be and adjusted his necktie. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”  
Her chuckles died down to slight hiccups as she tried to bring her attention back to her study hall materials. She’d allowed herself to get out of hand. It was time to come down.  
“Of course,” she said seriously.   
“I’m more of an in-person type wizard,” he continued on.  
She was aware of the hitch in his breath as he spoke. She, too, was on the edge of her seat, fears of him and dark plans forgotten, solely invested in the moment with him. Just as she’d been in the Quidditch locker room. Or in the corridor during patrol.   
It was all she could think about.   
“I’m not one for imagination,” Malfoy said.  
When the study hall was done, Malfoy was pulled to his Quidditch practice and that time left Hermione with nothing but an active imagination. She remembered the way he pulled her against him. The needy grasp of his fingers in her hair. Her core shuddered. She liked that.   
The feel of his erection against her belly was less intimidating that she pictured it to be as a young witch with vague ideas of lust. She, herself, had very few hormone surges until the proposition he gave her. It’d wrapped her body in a taut embrace of tension and desire. She hated how much she liked it.  
Part of her felt a traitor. Malfoy was the enemy. He was not to be trusted. Not to be liked. Hell, he tormented her for years about her blood status.  
Something made her not believe those things. She thought through them as rationally as possible and logic said that he despised muggleborns and yet there was a faint voice, from outside her mind buried deep in the center of her body, that declared it false. He liked her. She knew he did.  
That was why he toyed with her carefully. There were times where he was given the chance for total humiliation. It was what he strived for as a second year. Now, he let the moments slide. He gave them no second glance either. Malfoy brought himself close against her body when it should repel him away. He touched her. Purebloods like him believed the touch of a muggleborn was dirty, yet he never washed her off of him. He licked his lips to savor every drop of her kiss.   
Godric, when he did that. Something unfurled inside her. It surged straight to her knickers in an unladylike way.  
If anyone knew how much she wanted him, they’d kill her. Or curse her.  
She had to find Ginny. She had to talk it out with someone. Some witch who might understand how it felt to be so turned on by a wizard so bad for them.  
The Galleon coin in her pocket vibrated. It was a calling card to the DA. They called to assemble. She rushed to her dorm, donned the black jumper that was Malfoy’s with a cheeky smile and strode down to the Room of Requirement for a session with her friends.


	13. Chapter 13

### CHAPTER 13

#### Oh, darling. You’ve Gone Red.

Hermione arrived later to breakfast than normal. Drogon had dragged out a black jumper from somewhere and wouldn’t rest until she took it with her. Each time she removed it, he put it right back in her satchel. It went on for fifteen minutes whilst all her roommates complained of the incessant meowing. Finally, she caved when Lavender tossed a pillow.  
Gryffindor was a sleepy table. Their heads were sunken. Voices quiet. It took a while for the lions to fully roar awake. Harry and Ron were lucky to make it in time to snag a bite of something before class.  
The Slytherins, on the other hand, were in their full swing. They chatted with smiles as they ate off plates brimmed with fresh foods. Draco Malfoy was in his usual place. He chatted with a Slytherin she recognized from the Pitch. What was missing from his space was the usual high-pitched squeal of that pig Pansy Parkinson.   
The embarrassment of Pansy’s statement was washed away the night before. Hermione hardly cared if the witch thought of her as a whore. She wasn’t one. That was the truth and that’s all Hermione needed.  
Through the crowd, she spotted the ebony black hair down on the other end, nearer the younger Slytherins. They stared with their wide little eyes as she ate silently.   
A small, shallow vein of satisfaction twisted Hermione’s mouth with a smile. She had to enjoy the little things. It looked like karma found its way to the bitch after all.  
She made her way toward the deserted table of burgundy and gold when a sharp echoing whistle split the room. For whatever reason, it halted her steps.   
The Great Hall was not a place of epic scenes in the morning. Some acknowledged the sound with a wince while others continued to stare at their places with a faraway look in their eyes.   
Hermione Granger glanced at the Slytherin table, where, sure enough, Malfoy stared. His hand was gestured toward the seat at his side. Crabbe and Goyle were late risers. It was possible they weren’t awake yet to corral her.   
It was just lucky that she was not in the mood to fight him. She wanted to eat and start her day on a pleasant note.   
She walked the lonely distance of the Slytherin table until she reached the section of the fifth years. The open seat was hers. She took it without an ounce of hesitation. The ease of the transition from Hermione Granger, Gryffindor to Granger, Slytherin pet was frightening.  
Malfoy continued a tired-out discussion of his mother’s Christmas parties. They took place every year. _The Daily Prophet_ reported the gala every year with detailed pictures of the decorations and those in attendance. It was the red carpet of wizarding society purebloods. A practical list of Death Eater compadres and Voldemort sympathizers.  
Her ears were piqued with interest as to whom Malfoy mentioned he dreaded seeing – one whom spilled brandy on his new imported shoes! The horror! – and the odd withdrawn nature of the witches.  
Plates atop the Slytherin table were spread out, as they were with every House table. Hermione felt a discomfort in asking for what she desired, the plates nearest being picked through for their warmest and best contents, so she picked at some fruit and ate them quietly. Her tea was hot. That was most important.  
“Here.” A plate was thrust to her face. Grapes dropped from her fingers as she reached out to take it.   
“Um, thanks.” Hermione didn’t know what to make of it.  
The Slytherin witch, of wavy blonde locks and thick rimmed glasses, shrugged. “The boys clean out the plates this section of the table. You’ll never get anything if you sit next to them.”  
Near Ronald Weasley at a table, it was much the same. That kid had a knack for eating. He wasn’t picky either. He grinned at a plate of chicken drumsticks as he did beans and toast.   
“I’m Daphne.” The witch gave a soft, yet inquisitive smile.   
“Right. Nice to meet you. I’m, well, Granger to you lot.”  
The witch wrinkled her nose. “Do you mind? I’m not for all that last name pretension. It reeks entirely of the classless.”  
Hermione’s head bobbed as she swallowed a crumble of a muffin. “Of course. Hermione is fine with me.”  
A levelheaded witch in Slytherin. What a treat!  
Daphne Greengrass was a faceless witch in the background of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson’s reign of Slytherin terror. There was no moment Hermione could recall the sound of her voice or the bounce of her glasses at she wiggled her leg. She dressed plainly, same as Hermione, with looser trousers and jumper, with a necktie just below its proper height. Her hair was tied at the base of her skull, loosely. Strands of her light hair spread through the dark weave of jumper.  
The witch had three friendship bracelets twisted around her wrist. Plus, a thick gaudy brown leather split in the center by a large silver tree. Her hands had little drawings of black ink between her fingers.  
There were astrological symbols, like the phases of the moon and some stars. A few lightening bolts. A simple heart with a twisted curl at the base. One was an intricate anchor crafted of navy-blue ink rather than the black.   
“We have potions together,” Daphne stated.  
Really? “Yeah. Gryffindor and Slytherin have potion together. I remember.”  
“You and Ron and Harry have to fight over who is counted out.” It was not a question. She said it like a statement, to point out some underlying truth that Hermione could not figure out. Did she seek to draw attention to Harry and Ron? Was it a question over why they switched?   
Hermione swallowed her confusion with an unbothered tone. “Yes, well. Threesomes are unfairly broken sometimes.”  
“Malfoy changed partners and I don’t want to have Goyle as mine.” She pulled at the bundle of bracelets on her wrist. “It would be easier on both of us if we paired up.”  
That was news.   
Malfoy was the second best in the class. Who would want to lose him as a partner? He did impeccable work. His grade was close to hers.   
She leaned forward, very interested. “Pansy and Malfoy aren’t partners anymore? Why would she do that?”  
“Pet.” Malfoy’s elbow nudged her gently.   
Daphne gave her a knowing look and shifted away when Malfoy demanded Hermione’s attention. She twisted back toward him.  
“Hm?” She said softly.  
“We should study in the Great Hall today instead of the library,” he suggested casually. “During our free period.”  
News of the separation of Pansy and Malfoy as potions partners was still fresh. She didn’t know what to think. Was it Pansy’s idea to break things off? That was impossible. Malfoy had the second-best grade in the class. Who would ever risk their grade like that? Even if they were fighting over their breakup.   
Hermione was giddy, though, that she learned of the intimacy of their breakup. Pansy cheated. Malfoy hated her for that. He wanted nothing to do with her. That meant that he was moved on with his feelings for her. Possibly extinct emotions. Her heart thudded to a wild beat as she struggled to even out her breath. The logical assumption was that Malfoy was not jealous of Pansy and he certainly did not need a way to get back at her. He’d like to be rid of her. Which meant…it was entirely rational for his emotions for Hermione to be real. He kissed her like he meant it. They lounged around each other with surprising comfort.   
Things were not as she originally planned. That was clear.   
Her eyes grew wide as Ginny’s cute little face popped in her head with those words she’d hated to hear. Malfoy had feelings. Whatever they were, they were there. He wanted to possess her. Control her. All other wizards had to leave her alone. It was practically in front of her face.   
Malfoy liked her.  
Even now there was a softness in his features when he _suggested_ not demanded they study in the Great Hall. Hermione was given the option to debate the suggestion if she wanted. He was pliable. Flexible.  
What. The. Bloody. Hell.  
“Sure. The Great Hall sounds great.”  
Did it though? She preferred the library because it was a forced quiet. It was easier to focus. Plus, books. And everything about books was positive in her mind.   
He watched her wrap both of her hands around her teacup as she sipped. His eyes narrowed slightly.  
Malfoy was next to her face the next instant. “Curious. I never pictured you to be nervous at breakfast time. What’s got you all in a twist?”  
“Don’t play coy, you sod,” was what she wanted to say. Wanted.  
Instead what she said was, “Potions. I’ve got a new partner and I don’t think my friends will approve.”  
His face twisted to a smirk. “A new partner in Potions, eh? Wouldn’t happen to be a Slytherin, would it?”  
She placed her teacup lightly in it’s matching saucer. “It would. Daphne asked me and I accepted.”  
“Daphne?” His brow twitched. His eyes glanced over her shoulder at the witch alongside her. “Doesn’t like the prospect of a new partner, does she?”  
“Seeing as the options are Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and you, I’d suspect not.”  
“Like you wouldn’t jump at the chance to be my partner,” he snickered.  
She felt a rise in her. The opportunity was just there for her to reap.   
“You must have me confused for someone who likes to stroke…your ego.”  
A silent stir came to Malfoy as he sat there alongside his peers. His eyes turned to burning flames that she knew were laced with desire. Did he want to push her into that wall and snog her lungs out? Probably.  
His eyes shuttered to her parted, pouty lips she made extra red from biting. “Mm. And where might I find a witch that doesn’t mind a bit of stroking? The library perhaps?”  
She had to tear her gaze away to withhold the lust from pouring out. Instead she focused upon her teacup once again as she pulled the cool cup toward her mouth, steam hot in her face, lips caressed the edge.   
“From what I heard, the Great Hall.”  
He smirked. “I’ll see you then.”  
Hermione had a smile the whole day. She went through her classes with a noticed enthusiasm that her friends beheld with questionable gazes. The shimmery glint in her eye didn’t diminish when Umbridge made the offhand comment that she preferred elves with ‘leashes round their filthy little necks’, though Hermione fingered her wand in it’s place. She still wore her S.P.E.W. badge proudly.   
Her friends were lightened by her joy. They smiled more than they had all year long. It was a refreshing change to the depression tone of Hogwarts since the Tri-Wizard tournament, Cedric’s death and the rise of Voldemort. Of course there was Umbridge. No one was too happy with her around.  
Still, she couldn’t let the weight of the whole world stamp out her brilliant mood. It was a rare find. She let it use her as it willed before it left, and she returned a nervous, anxious, frustrated witch.  
Potions came swiftly. She was ready for the stir it’d cause in the Gryffindor House. She held her chin high as she took a seat next to Daphne, on the Slytherin side. Neville’s bottom jaw dropped.  
Daphne Greengrass smiled. She grabbed out her Potions text and placed it in line with Hermione’s atop their shared table. The witch asked after Hermione’s day which she reciprocated in polite curtesy. They talked softly to themselves as the rest of their houses filtered in, eyeing them very directly. Gryffindor was not subtle in its shock. Their mouths hanged low.  
Slytherin was surprised but had become accustomed to her presence thanks to Malfoy. Pansy was the most haunted by the fact that Hermione crossed the lines. Her eyes grew twice their size, jaw clenched shut, and her feet slammed against the stone floor until she reached Goyle’s desk and tossed down her things in a very obvious hissy fit.   
At her side, Daphne snickered quietly.   
Then stumbled in Ron and Harry. Ronald moved to an open desk on the Gryffindor side of the class. It was different for Harry who’d noticed her placement. He remained fixed in the aisle with his eyes on her, with question. She forced a smile. It hurt to see his confusion.  
There was a noted sigh. “Come on, mate.” It was Ron’s low mumble.  
Draco Malfoy strode through the classroom with an all too delighted look on his face. It was to taunt Harry. She glared very sharply at his stupid face.   
Daphne shoved her shoulder. “Ignore the wizards, Hermione.”  
“If I can get along with both of them, then they could at least pretend to get along. Or for Godric’s sake, ignore the other. Why must they go through this charade?”  
“They’re wizards. Think of them like cats. Each one has a scent mark on you and their vying to fight over whose is more dominant. Draco or Harry. Who has the bigger wand, so to speak. Since you’re not a bleeding cat and can make your own choices, they’ve got to do this awkward dance to see whom you’re subtly choosing more.”  
“Honestly, that’s just barmy.”  
“Duh,” Daphne enunciated clearly.  
A dark wraith entered the damp classroom. The candles heightened their glow. Shadows grew against the thick stone walls. Coldness sank through the room once the door of the class was closed shut; the warmth of the corridor was all that gave a bearable temperature.   
Hermione shivered. She pulled her robes closer to her body. The dungeons were so cold. How did the Slytherin’s live in it all year long?  
“Miss Granger,” said the wraith of flowing black: Professor Snape. He favored the darker colors just as Malfoy did. It was all he wore.  
“Yes, sir.”  
His dark eyes examined her with a pointed edge. It stabbed through her confidence. Her joy of the day was punctured and drained slowly.  
The silence of the room gaped the hole open deeper.   
“Has your inflated ego grown since we’ve last met that you intend to take over the Slytherin’s with your insufferable sense of self or have you had a sudden change of heart?” It was said with a nasty tone. It implied that she desired to disrupt her classmates by invading their space. Which was an outright lie.  
Pansy Parkinson snickered at the professor’s statement. The rest of Slytherin remained quiet.  
The lack of reaction had the professor twitch the thin brow above his eyes. Black eyes landed at Draco. It was not a secret that Draco and Pansy ran their peers. While one had laughed, the other stayed silent.  
It was not beyond the notice of their Head of House when all the Slytherins accepted Hermione within their ranks. He had to have noticed. Draco was a star in his house. A diva. Everything gravitated toward him. Including teachers. Professor Snape knew that she was in the ranks of Slytherin quite commonly.   
“I am with my potions partner, professor.”  
She felt Ron and Harry’s eyes on her. In fact, they were accompanied with all the Gryffindors. She fought the threat of a blush. One weakness and the professor would slaughter her until she rejoined her ranks.  
“I see,” Professor Snape said coolly.  
The quiet settled his debate. Hermione guessed he’d wanted to cause a stir within Slytherin, perhaps let them have a few quick jabs at a muggleborn in their House, before he commanded her back and withdrew points for disrupting class. The outcome was much nicer.   
He gained his stride once more as he spoke of the upcoming segment of their class. It covered venom antidotes, which Hermione was keen to learn. Venom was almost always deadly unless treated with an antidote. It was easy enough to stumble upon a plant or animal with a venom. She deemed it a necessary skill to learn. Practical to know thoroughly.  
There was a wild chance that Ronald or Harry might need a venom antidote. Actually, now that she considered it, it was a miracle they hadn’t needed one already.   
“Fresh ingredients make a more potent brew,” the professor revealed. “That is why. Today. We will find a wild grow of one of our ingredients and each pick a week’s worth of the ingredient for our class. Each pair will be responsible for their own ingredients. Fail to collect enough will result in failure of the lesson. No exceptions.”  
The class remained silent.   
“As for how we are to find them,” his lips suddenly curled at the corner, “the class shall be in charge of finding and identifying the plant. None shall be picked until a clear identification is done. Failure to find, identify, and secure a patch large enough for the entire class with result in failure. For the entire class.”  
That was quite a punishment. There was no way to know for sure if there were even patches large enough for the entire class, much less finding them. The Hogwarts school grounds were massive. Acres upon acres.   
It was just lucky that Neville was a Gryffindor. He loved Herbology. He was bound to know locations on school grounds where the plants might grow wild. At least, he better. Or else all the time he spent in the greenhouse was useless.  
The class bundled up their bags and satchels and jumpers and followed the professor out of the heavy wooden doors into the blistery green of the school grounds. It was a windy day. Dreary, too.   
Daphne and Hermione walked together through the wave. Neither knew where to look to find the wild grows. Daphne said Herbology was her least favorite class. It wasn’t Hermione’s least favorite (divination took that place), but it was not her strongest either.   
Ron and Harry lined themselves with the girls and started to ask if Hermione had gloves. She sighed.  
“I swear if your heads weren’t attached…” she rummaged through her bag.  
“We know. We’d have lost them by now,” Harry replied.  
“It’s not our fault,” Ron pointed out. “If he’d have told us we were going outside, I might have brought mine.”  
She transfigured a few of her things into gloves for her friends. They thanked her quietly and slid them on their hands.   
“It wouldn’t hurt you to carry them,” she snipped. “It is autumn after all.”  
“Or magically thread them into the sleeves of your robes,” Daphne offered.  
The two Gryffindor wizard’s eyes bulged. They seemed to have forgotten Hermione had a new potions partner. A Slytherin. It was a rare occurrence to have polite conversation with a Slytherin. Not even rare. It’d never happened.  
Ron averted his eyes from Daphne. Hermione watched it rather curiously. What was that for?  
“Is that what you do, Daphne?” Hermione asked lightly, in an attempt to keep the conversation going and her boys not so nervous.  
Daphne’s thick glasses fell down her face. She pushed them up quickly. “Not me. My younger sister could never keep track of anything so my mum would magically stitch her gloves and scarf to her coat so they’d always be there when she needed them. Course, she was four then.”  
A light blush tinted Harry and Ron’s noses.   
“What a brilliant idea,” Hermione said.  
They spoke with as much effort as had ever been witnessed before. For some reason, Harry and Ron had to force the words out. It was odd since herself and Daphne were at ease. But the two wizards stumbled around a conversation rather awkwardly. Harry would let sentences die right in the middle, without an ending. Then was Ronald. He’d speak so softly that they’d ask ten times what he said. It was embarrassing. Hermione thought to smack some sense into their head when Daphne’s attention was snared by something else other than her friends.  
“Here.” A voice split the air. Everyone knew who it belonged to. “Dittony.”  
Malfoy stood by his find. The dark robes of the professor fluttered in the wind as he appraised the Dittony patch.   
It looked the part. Plus, it was large in size. The class would easily have enough for their potions.  
“Excellent, Mister Malfoy. You’ve found a proper grow,” Professor Snape proclaimed. “Your class is blessed to have a populated grow so close to the castle.”  
Scotland took a bit of pity upon the students outside in its weather. Clouds parted overhead. As the students descended to the Dittony, a ray of sunshine warmed their skin. Hermione relished to splash of warmth through the bland stretch of cold lawn.   
Daphne and Hermione took the opposite end to start their collection. Just before she bent her knee, Hermione looked around to take stock of the class. Malfoy was at the opposite end. They caught each other’s eye for a moment.   
“What are you doing with Draco?” Daphne suddenly asked.  
Hermione gasped. “Pardon?”  
Had she seen their eye contact? Did she suspect something?   
“You’re smarter than this. Whatever it is. You have to have at least three ways to get rid of him, and that is just a bare minimum. Knowing you, you’ve thought of ten,” the witch said. “So why are you still here?”  
Goodness. That was not a question she was prepared for. Hermione ran her hands down her pants although the sweat in her palms was contained by her gloves. Her heart jumped to a thundering pace and a heat came to her under arms.   
The blonde witch paused her collection and appraised her. “Do you like him?”  
“What?” Hermione breathed.  
“Do you fancy him?”  
“That’s preposterous.”  
She was suddenly aware of her voice. It sounded so shrill and emotional.   
“I know,” Daphne stated. “But that doesn’t make it any less possible.”  
Hermione focused her eyes on the dittony. Pick. Pick. Pick the dittony.   
“Yes. It does. Gryffindors and Slytherins don’t mix.”  
“He doesn’t seem to think so.” Her eyes motioned upward where Malfoy obviously watched them as he worked and then shoved Neville out of the way. Hermione refused to stare. Her eyes went right back down to her foraging. Wasn’t class more important that boys?   
Her only reply was, “That’s mental.”  
“Aren’t all wizards?” Daphne snickered.   
It was a sign from Merlin himself when Ron waltzed up not a second later, hands in his pockets, an awkward stance to his build. She near felt her jaw fall from her mouth as he stood there.  
“Hey Mione,” he said. His eyes then turned to the witch at her side. He then cleared his throat, hands still shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched high. “Daphne, right?”  
She nodded. “And you’re Ron.”  
Then. He smiled. It was small, not toothy or overzealous. Just natural.   
It was freaky.   
“Right.”  
Hermione brushed the grass and pieces of dittony leaves from her robes as she stood. “Daphne hated us to fight over partners, so she offered to be mine for potions.”  
His head bobbed. Like he understood.  
“Oi. You like Quidditch?”  
The blonde witch nodded and said she watched every match.  
“I play soon, you know. Wait. Well, you probably know that. I play for Gryffindor. Keeper.”  
It was painful to watch the witch blink and say, “Why would I know that?”  
It took all the wind out of Ron’s sails. A sure sign of panic crossed his face.  
“Right. Well. See you around,” he said and walked off.  
Hermione went after him. “What is the matter with you? You’re acting like you’ve never talked before.”  
She rubbed his shoulder gently. It used to help ease his worries. Though it did little to help this time.  
“I can’t do this. It’s too much pressure,” he said frantically. “I’m going to resign.”  
“It’s only a game, Ronald.”  
Ron suddenly pointed a finger. “You know the whole school sees them. None of them forget a thing. I can’t handle it. They all look at me and wish me luck. Luck? I need a bloody miracle to beat Slytherin.”  
She frowned. It was so sad to see him a mess like that.   
“It’s going to be alright,” she said. Her arms wrapped around him in an embrace. “You’ll do great. Just keep focused and don’t lose your nerve.”  
“Yeah.” He swallowed. It did not convince her that he was calmed.  
What else could she say?  
“Oh! And trust your stomach. Or was it your intestines? Oh well. Trust whatever digestive organ that helps you make decisions.”  
He groaned and rubbed his palms into his eyes. “It’s your gut, Mione. Trust your gut.”  
“Gut isn’t a proper term for anything specific.”  
“I know.” He sighed with a soft chuckle. “So you’ve said.”  
The class started to disperse from the dittony. Half were already on their way back to the castle.   
Harry waved at both his friends. “Hermione. Ron. Let’s go.”  
They hurried after him. Both smiled a bit. Perhaps her words of encouragement helped. She walked arm in arm with Harry and Ron as they rattled off excitement over lunch. Ron was starving. Hermione herself was left hungry from breakfast with the Slytherins. Harry avoided breakfast altogether and was famished by the time the meal rolled around.   
It felt the first time in a long time that Hogwarts was like years before. They smiled and laughed and joked and ate. Neville joined them. Ginny was there, too. Seamus and Dean invited themselves inside the conversation halfway through and never left after that.  
There was talk of Quidditch, which Ron remained quiet. Then it turned to Viktor Krum, his professional Quidditch team being ‘one of the best’ in all of history which Hermione thought was exaggerated. Somehow it turned to a party plan in the Gryffindor tower after the match which they all declared Gryffindor a winner. Hermione pointed out that the Slytherin team was rather good. There was no way to know for certain that they’d win. It was answered with a table full of angry glares. She digressed from it all together.  
It was a losing battle to fight with the whole of Gryffindor over the nature of games. Some are won. Some lost. That was inevitable. And after firsthand witnessing the collection of the Slytherin team, Hermione knew it would be a fight for the best.   
After lunch, the boys disappeared to their Quidditch practice which had to be done elsewhere since Slytherin had the Pitch reserved almost every day until the match. Hermione went to her dorm, collected her study materials, gave Drogon a treat, and headed down to meet Malfoy in the Great Hall.  
She joined him at the Slytherin table. He never sat at the Gryffindor table. Ever.  
Malfoy had the same books as she. Hers were placed next to his.  
“Great minds think alike, eh?” She was in a great mood and didn’t try to hide it.  
Life was great. She had the DA, Harry was back to normal, and she had snog sessions with Malfoy. It was all the best. Pansy was low on the Slytherin totem pole, magically put back in her place and Daphne was a new acquaintance that she actually enjoyed.   
Of course, there was the dilemma of Malfoy’s feelings. Hermione opted for a little denial. She pushed those thoughts away with a happy smile on her face. Into the shadows they went.  
“Gee, pet. You seem rather cheerful. Anyone in particular been cheering you up lately?” His voice was less pleasant than she expected.  
“Being as I am your pet, wouldn’t you be the one responsible?” She grinned.  
Malfoy’s shoulders eased in their sockets. “What the hell is with you, Granger?”  
“What?” She shrugged. “I’m happy. You’ve seen me happy before.”  
He blinked. “Not like this.”  
“Then you should be celebrating,” she said with a teasing brow.  
“How do you figure?”  
It was not nearly the same amount of fun when he wasn’t in a similar mood. He’d been so just that morning. What had changed since then?   
“I’ve finally adjusted to that massive ego of yours and have thrived,” she teased. When he didn’t smile, she rolled her eyes. “What is with you? You were all playful this morning at breakfast with the hilarious assumption I’d stroke anything of yours and now you’re pouting.”  
His face scrunched. “I am not pouting.”  
Hermione sighed and conceded. Whatever his deal was, she wouldn’t feed it. She dipped her quill to ink and started to scratch in a legible scrawl about the benefits of venom antidotes and their various techniques of brewing.   
Malfoy had continued his own work but paused. “I don’t seem to remember you believing it hilarious at breakfast.”  
Her eyes popped up instantly. He remained focused on his work. His hand moved fluidly over the paper, perfectly calligraphy as he wrote out his own potion’s assignment.   
“If I recall, you were open to it.”  
Her eyebrows near flew off her face. “_Open?_”  
Malfoy smirked. “I’d been under the impression a bit of privacy and you’d have warmed to the idea quickly.”  
Apparently, the mood had been asleep.  
“You must have me mistaken,” she gasped. “For a witch who is swayed by the tides of your changing moods.”  
“Are you not?”  
The way he said it. It made her stop.   
She remembered that tone from the locker room out at the Pitch. It was vulnerable and tense. That way made her insides melt with unhinged desire she hated to be fed, but loved the way it felt with a sharp hunger  
Hermione lowered her voice. “Only a little.”  
His smile consumed his face even as he worked. It was a delicious sight of brilliant white teeth lined in a shapely mouth. His lips were thin and pale but expressed him so animatedly. She was drawn to that part of him. Where all his walls dropped down to the fun, teasing, arrogant inside who kissed and held her and made her laugh.   
They worked on the assignments with their typical rhythm. He started using her ink at the same time as her, so they had to fight over it. In the midst of it, her quill dragged across the back of his hand to which he responded by poking her forearm. His ink made a large black dot.  
She playfully narrowed her eyes as she dipped her quill in the ink. He smirked down from his entitled height with a familiar crinkle to his eyes. Yet he allowed the fight to cease and the homework to continue.  
An owl flew through the Hall not long after. The large midnight black owl dropped a package to the table. It stepped over to Malfoy’s side and rubbed its beak against his cheek.   
Hermione giggled behind her hand as he tried to avoid the animal’s clear affection of him.  
He fed the owl a piece of a biscuit and off it flew.  
The package was stuffed full of wrapped treats, little sweets and various things for his pet cat. He left the contents spilled in the center as he opened the letter.  
It held a dainty, gentle, proper handwriting.   
Draco Malfoy raised the letter to his face and read through the lines of black ink. His fingers flexed once. Hermione stole a glance at his face. It was not cheery. In fact, it was tense.   
Her eyes caught a glimpse of the writing. There within the writing was the word “girlfriend” and “mudblood”.   
She focused back to her work with a struggle to keep her eyes a normal size. A letter from Draco’s mother about her, a muggleborn, Gryffindor witch she thought as his girlfriend. It was only for her imagination what it said about her.  
If his mother knew, Lucius was well aware of it, too.   
Her intestines twisted in discomfort as she sat there with a great intensity upon her homework. She felt a dribble of sweat fall down her spine. The cheer that once filled her entire being was now anxiety.   
Thoughts flew through her at millions of kilometers a second as she tried to sort through. Did he tell them? Did they learn from some outside source? Did they approve of his mudblood pet? If they did, what was the point?   
Wait. What if it was their instruction that led him to entrap her as his personal pet?  
Hermione Granger was reminded of Voldemort. The Malfoy’s – Lucius in particular – were known followers and close at hand to the Dark Lord’s wishes. There were darker plans afoot. Malfoy must have been made a part of them.  
She scooted to the back edge of her seat, the farther she could manage to get away from him.  
Out the corner of her eye, she noticed something. His fingers. They pushed the sweet treats forward. Toward her. Their shiny cellophane wrappers were atop her parchment.  
His eyes continued to scan through the letter’s contents. When he finally set it down, his face was not so playful. Their banter was over. As was her cheery mood.  
“Bad news?” She asked in the hopes of seeming ignorant of the letter and it’s upset.   
“Hm?” He roused from whatever thought he’d had. “Uh, no. Just usual questions from a boy’s mother. Am I studying? Am I having fun? She can’t wait to hear about my first Quidditch match.”  
It was so convincing that Hermione almost believed him.   
He pushed another sweet forward. She looked at him with question.  
“I’ve got loads from her already,” he explained.  
She took a single piece. Malfoy rolled his eyes.  
“Take them all, pet. They’re for you.”  
There were so many candies she had to stow them in her satchel. She hadn’t much of a sweet tooth. The treats might last her an entire year.   
Her fingers landed on a piece of fabric when she’d put the last of the sweets away. She’d almost forgotten. A blush burned her face as she pulled the black jumper out and placed it on the table.  
The white embroidered dragon was right at the chest, visible in the position she laid it. His eyes noticed it casually.  
“If you wanted access to my bedchamber, all you had to do was ask.”  
Hermione bit her lip and tucked a piece of hair away. “Drogon dragged it up the staircase. I don’t know where he found it.”  
He smirked. “Brightest witch of the age and that’s the story you’ve come up with? Pathetic, Granger. I expected more.”  
“The truth isn’t a story. He really did bring it to me.”  
Malfoy shrugged. “Then he wanted it to be yours.”  
Like homework was more important than a returned article of clothing from an opposite sex friend, Malfoy turned back to his parchment and reading his textbook. Hermione’s resolve to stay calm in the light of shock was overcome. Her jaw practically dislocated.  
Through fallen strands of his straight blonde hair, she saw him appraise her.  
She groaned through a chuckle. “I hate you,” she said softly. “You planned this. You gave it to Drogon so that I’d have to return it so you could make a quip. Go on. Don’t be shy.”  
“Well you just ruin the fun when you point it out, pet.”  
“You’re unbelievable.”  
“Admit it. You like the idea of wearing my things,” he said. “Now that you call yourself one of them.”  
Hermione hid the shame on her face with her hand.   
“Go on, pet. Don’t be shy. Tell me how you like being called one of my things.”  
She shook her head. “I’ve never said such a ridiculous thing.”  
His eyes narrowed. “You’re such a bloody liar.”  
“Am not!” She gasped.  
“Don’t play innocent, Granger. Higgs told me what you said to him.” There was no containing the pleasure on his face. It ate her up. She wanted to run out all the anxiety she felt, knowing just how vulnerable she felt. She’d made herself one of his ‘pureblood’ things. It was possible he’d punish her for it. But the devilish look in his eye said different. “Go on. Say it. Tell me what you said.”  
Her hands clamped over her cheeky grin. “Never,” she declared from behind.  
“Oh, darling. You’ve gone red. Could it be, me, that’s gotten you all in a stir?”  
If she’d thought her jaw dislocated before, it was definitely snapped then. He was teasing her! But less in a mean way, and more in a…playful way? He enjoyed it. His lips couldn’t stop smiling.   
Pride? Victory? Triumph?  
He danced his eyebrow as she stared, unwilling to show the embarrassment and glee in her features. But as he made another face, she chortled loudly.  
Malfoy ate up the expression. “If only I could take a photograph…”  
“I’d know what you’d do with it,” she taunted.  
It was his time to be surprised. The pleasure jumped to pure disbelief. It opened up the opportunity to laugh at his face. Which she took full advantage of.  
“_Oh, darling. You’ve gone red_,” she mocked lightly.  
He tried his best to hide his smile in false anger. She saw right through it.  
“Loosen up, pet. Don’t you like the idea of me knowing what you’d do with my picture?” She dared say.   
The statement was past the mark of what she’d usually feel comfortable saying in his presence, but she needed to loosen a little. This way, it made him anxious too.  
Malfoy recovered like the raised gentlemen he was born to be and adjusted his necktie. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”  
Her chuckles died down to slight hiccups as she tried to bring her attention back to her study hall materials. She’d allowed herself to get out of hand. It was time to come down.  
“Of course,” she said seriously.   
“I’m more of an in-person type wizard,” he continued on.  
She was aware of the hitch in his breath as he spoke. She, too, was on the edge of her seat, fears of him and dark plans forgotten, solely invested in the moment with him. Just as she’d been in the Quidditch locker room. Or in the corridor during patrol.   
It was all she could think about.   
“I’m not one for imagination,” Malfoy said.  
When the study hall was done, Malfoy was pulled to his Quidditch practice and that time left Hermione with nothing but an active imagination. She remembered the way he pulled her against him. The needy grasp of his fingers in her hair. Her core shuddered. She liked that.   
The feel of his erection against her belly was less intimidating that she pictured it to be as a young witch with vague ideas of lust. She, herself, had very few hormone surges until the proposition he gave her. It’d wrapped her body in a taut embrace of tension and desire. She hated how much she liked it.  
Part of her felt a traitor. Malfoy was the enemy. He was not to be trusted. Not to be liked. Hell, he tormented her for years about her blood status.  
Something made her not believe those things. She thought through them as rationally as possible and logic said that he despised muggleborns and yet there was a faint voice, from outside her mind buried deep in the center of her body, that declared it false. He liked her. She knew he did.  
That was why he toyed with her carefully. There were times where he was given the chance for total humiliation. It was what he strived for as a second year. Now, he let the moments slide. He gave them no second glance either. Malfoy brought himself close against her body when it should repel him away. He touched her. Purebloods like him believed the touch of a muggleborn was dirty, yet he never washed her off of him. He licked his lips to savor every drop of her kiss.   
Godric, when he did that. Something unfurled inside her. It surged straight to her knickers in an unladylike way.  
If anyone knew how much she wanted him, they’d kill her. Or curse her.  
She had to find Ginny. She had to talk it out with someone. Some witch who might understand how it felt to be so turned on by a wizard so bad for them.  
The Galleon coin in her pocket vibrated. It was a calling card to the DA. They called to assemble. She rushed to her dorm, donned the black jumper that was Malfoy’s with a cheeky smile and strode down to the Room of Requirement for a session with her friends.


	14. Chapter 14

### CHAPTER 14

#### The False King 

After the DA meeting, Hermione found Drogon waiting for her outside the Room of Requirement. His chest was puffed, shoulders broadly displayed. He didn’t move a muscle as witches and wizards surged out the opening. The creature stayed as feet fell on either side on him but never bruised his body.  
Ron spied him as him and Hermione lingered behind the group. He wiggled his finger at the cat, and after a welcoming blink, scratched Drogon behind his ears. “Who’s a good boy, eh?”  
Harry had detention. He rushed past them with a quick goodbye. Hermione waved after him.  
Drogon pawed at Ron’s hand when he tried to stop petting him. The red headed wizard chuckled. “Oi. Don’t scratch me you bugger. I’ll give you a pet.”  
He picked up the small cat, cradled him in his arms and joined Hermione by the wall. They leaned against it, facing each other as they both spoiled her cat endlessly, which explained his growing confidence and attitude. And Drogon loved the attention. He typically did not like being babied. Ron was the only one he let do it.   
Hermione dug out one of the cat treats and offered it to her familiar. He snacked at it quietly. His soft hum as his teeth pierced the little soft treat was the only sound within the now abandoned corridor.  
Her friend stayed notably quiet during the exchange, a non-Ron quality. She beheld him with pity. There were few things that made Ronald thoughtful. None were positive.  
“Are you still nervous?” She asked with a sad curl of her lip.  
“Blimey am I,” he answered. “Harry says it’s fine. I’ve got what it takes, but I don’t believe him. I think he’s just sayin’ it so I don’t feel bad.”  
Hermione considered it a moment. “He might be. But that doesn’t make it not true. You made the team. Clearly, you have what it takes.”  
“I don’t know, Mione.”  
“Well I do,” she said firmly. “You’re a Gryffindor Keeper. The Gryffindor Keeper. That’s a noble position. You’re going to protect us. Isn’t that what you’re good at? You protect Harry.”  
“That’s different. He’s a person. Not a bloody hoop with dozens of wizards trying to get to.”  
“I don’t see much of a difference.”  
They fell back into a quiet lull as their attentions fixed back on Drogon. They hated to argue with the other. Hermione knew that Ron was important for Harry. Harry did a fair share of arguing these days that it was enough for the pair of them. They were the ones who had his back when he turned it on them.  
Seemingly those days of his angry withdrawal were behind him. The DA made him more like she remembered of years past when it was fun to be his best friend, and not difficult. He was too moody to trust. One thing might send him back to his grief. It would take another miracle to save him from himself.  
She sighed, sad with thoughts about her best friend. He almost sensed her thoughts.  
“He wanted me to talk to you, you know,” Ron said. “See if he’d done something to make you want to be friends with Malfoy.”  
Again. The wizards always focused on each other.  
“No. He’s not done anything.”  
Her hand rested against Ron’s chest so that she could give Drogon his favorite kind of scratch on the neck. The back of her hand felt his pulse beat steady through his woven jumper.  
“Have I done something then?” He asked.  
“It’s not got to do with either of you,” she answered. “It’s got to do with me.”  
Ron wrinkled his nose. “What about you?”  
Even though he was her best friend, she wasn’t sure he’d understand. A wizard and a witch thought different. She knew that Ron was loads different than she was. He saw things more white and black than she did. He was loyal to Harry, one hundred percent, no matter what. If Harry turned to the dark, Ron would be right there by his side.  
Hermione wasn’t so sure she could follow anyone so blindly. Was it a lapse of conviction? Was it the protection of her heart? What made her feel so different from them?  
Part of her knew that answer would never come to light. She loved Harry. His life was the ultimate goal of the whole Order. No one compared to him.   
It was her mission to save his life so that good might reign over the world once more. Whatever it took.  
“I don’t know, Ronald. It’s just something about me.”  
He touched her hand gently and held it against his chest. “You can tell me. I won’t freak out.”  
“What?” She breathed.  
“Harry would. I know that. But not me. I trust you.”  
“Ron, I don’t know what – “   
They were suddenly ripped apart. Ron was pushed back against the wall while Hermione was pulled away the other way behind someone’s back. She heard Drogon meowing and hissing on the other side.  
Hermione was shocked. She held her arm where the powerful hand had pulled her flesh so hard that it hurt. “What the hell!”  
“Stay back, pet.”  
The color drained from her face. Draco Malfoy was irate with his hands against Ron’s shoulders. His face was an angry red, a color that did not look good on a Malfoy.   
“What do you want, Malfoy!” Ron spat.  
Malfoy growled loudly. “Making moves, huh? Weaslebee.”  
Hermione tried to step between them, but Malfoy was stronger and quicker. He swiped her back behind him.  
“Malfoy. Please stop.” She pleaded. “We were just talking.”  
All the while Drogon hissing and yowled, clawing at Ron’s chest as he held him protectively close so Malfoy wouldn’t hurt him. It fueled Malfoy’s rage further.  
He ripped the white cat from Ron’s hold despite the loud protests and placed it in Hermione’s arms. She cradled Drogon to her chest. He was still upset. He wiggled and sank his claws through her jumper.  
Ron stood unafraid of Malfoy where he should have shook in his pants to know what kind of control that Malfoy exercised. When it came to her, his anger was profound. On the pitch, he nearly sent Higgs to hospital.   
What would he do to an enemy?  
“Please, don’t hurt him,” she said. “Let’s just go.”  
Blinding burning anger lived inside his eyes. She met them straight on.  
“Please, Draco. Please.”  
He’d come out of nowhere. She hadn’t heard anyone in the corridor. They were so near the Gryffindor Tower. What was he doing there?  
Draco Malfoy wore a dressed down leisure suit, all black, with a hairstyle reminiscent of his earlier days at Hogwarts where hair oil was his favorite beauty product. His hair was slicked back straight, almost wet looking. His flesh was pinker than normal. It had a lively hue that Malfoy’s were not known for.  
He shoved Ron against the wall hard then backed away, one hand gripped Hermione’s arm as he pulled her along. She knew better than to look over her shoulder. A spell of unsavory intentions would find Ron if she did. Instead, she held onto Drogon and her tongue as they traversed the castle. Draco led down the halls, winding through corridor after corridor until they found a dark one somewhere in the castle. It smelled forgotten. Dank. Cold and moist.   
Though she’d lost track of how many stairs and corridors they went through, he must have brought them to the dungeons. She knew the feeling anywhere. Suffocating enclosure. It was a tension at the back of the neck anytime she broke through the warmth of the rest of the castle and delved into the depths underground.  
Draco’s grip released her. He ran his fingers through his flat platinum locks.   
She stood, unsure of what to say. It was the rule to avoid other wizards. But that meant Higgs. Not her friends. She’d not broken that term of agreement. It was her best friend with whom she spent time with all the time.   
“Where have you been?” He finally asked after a full minute of fuming.   
It broke through the stagnant air. A wretched stink of mildew and dust.  
She bit her lip. “Out.”  
“Out,” his voice coolly echoed. “With him?”  
She knew who he meant. It was no leap to assume he meant Ronald since he’d only forcibly pulled them apart.   
The rule of the game was to not let his temper get the best of him.  
“Not solely, no. With our friends. A friendly gathering, if you will.”  
“I thought I told you to get out of Potter’s secret club, Hermione. Do you know what Umbridge will do if she finds out?” He roared.   
No wonder he brought them to an old, unused corridor. He didn’t want anyone to hear them.   
His fury was palpable through the air. She felt it all around her body, tightly trapping her in.  
“Tell me what Potter’s up to so I can protect you. Turn them all in and save yourself,” he instructed with a firm tone. “Now.”  
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
He gritted his teeth. “Don’t. Lie. To. Me.”  
Hermione bit her lip. She wouldn’t – and couldn’t if she liked her face the way it was – betray her friends. Not even for Draco. There was too much at stake. Her safety, for one. She needed to learn what Harry taught.   
Soon enough, she’d be left without them and need it all the more.   
Draco’s storm grey eyes met hers in a hard collision. They fought against her will with all their might. He had to feel her refusal. He had to know it was the fight he wouldn’t win. She would die for her friends. That’s what he knew. He manipulated her loyalty and dedication to forge their friendship in the first place.  
He stepped forward just as she stepped away. Only two steps left her backed up against the wall. She exhaled in discomfort with the cold leeched into her bones.  
“If you won’t tell me, I’ll figure it out myself,” he spat. “You know I will.”  
Her voice was tiny and frail against his rage. “I wish you wouldn’t.”  
Draco let out a growl loudest she’d ever heard. He threw a book down the empty hall. The thud echoed. And it masked the sound of his retreating steps.  
Hermione fell to the dungeon floor with trembling breaths. She’d never seen him so angry. It pierced her dedication to Harry with a twist of guilt. Draco tried. He was there for her, and not anything else.   
Desperation in his voice haunted her in the lonely walk back to Gryffindor Tower. She felt it rattled around her hollow ribcage. Each breath shallower than the last. A burning blur clouded her eyes.   
Something motivated him. Draco was driven by some need, outside or internal, to protect her. Whatever it was that forced his hand was stronger than she had given credence.   
It was time to notify the Order. She had a responsibility.  
She gathered up as much strength as she could to compose a letter to the one man she thought might offer the best advice and wisdom. It was a long shot. If he told anyone else, the Order might overturn her convictions to nothing but a chorus of denial. Still, she had to try.   
The final touch was the addressee on the outside of the letter. She wrote the name delicately. It gave her time to revoke its creation. She could toss it into the flame and burn up the evidence.   
Gryffindor courage held out. She handed it to Ginny.  
“Post this for me, Gin. Please.”  
The witch read the name. “Lupin? What are you writing him for?”  
“Don’t let anyone know you’ve seen this, Ginny. This letter doesn’t exist. And it isn’t mine,” Hermione emphasized.   
It alerted whatever concern her friend had. She kneeled down beside her in front of the Gryffindor Tower fireplace. Her hand rested against Hermione’s shoulder.   
“Are you alright?” She whispered.  
Tears nearly dripped down her cheeks as she nodded. “Please. Keep this a secret.”  
Ginny nodded darkly. She slipped the letter into her jumper with a solemn bow.   
“Thank you.” Hermione mouthed.  
With luck, there would be a reply to her letter in the post early in the morning or at the latest, the next day. She was anxious for that. She went to bed straight away to aid it coming sooner. Her head hit the pillow and not long after she found a sound sleep.  
Draco Malfoy was talented in revenge. He found a way to stab it slowly through the heart and back out again. Her fists balled tight as Crabbe and Goyle ushered her toward him on the way to Astronomy, a class they shared. Astronomy was the class that she and Draco sat together, alone, in the back of the class. Most of the time they just wrote notes or rolled their eyes at something they both thought fantastical.   
When she saw his smug, stupid face in the corridor, her eyes went red.  
“You bloody prat!” She shrieked. In her hand was one of his mother’s treats. She flicked it at his face.  
He caught it with a sharp glare. The rest of the Slytherins backed away in shock. They knew just how easy it was to insult the wizard and how even easier it was to earn a curse from his wand. Goyle and Crabbe backed up with the rest of them while she got right in his face.  
“You son of a bitch.”  
Draco sneered, “Something got your knickers in a twist, _pet_?”  
It was that oh so subtle reminder that she had a place below him. She would not be curbed today. The strength of betrayal was deep enough in her heart to curse him on her own volition.   
“You know damn well it does! You’re torturing Ron.”  
“Oh, yes. Gryffindor’s favorite red head. Weaselbee.” A horrid, awful, Malfoy glint came to his eye as he grabbed her elbow and led her away from prying ears. “Your boyfriend is a lousy player. He shouldn’t be allowed near a broomstick let alone on the House team.”  
She yanked her arm from his hold. “Stop it. I know you’re doing this to punish me.”  
“He’s brought it on himself. Your boyfriend.”  
Hermione put her hand against Malfoy’s chest in defiance. “He’s not my boyfriend.”  
“Good,” he spat. “You just better keep it that way.”  
He started to walk away. She assumed that he expected her to follow in compliance. But he’d gone too far. Their terms were strict. The entire reason she agreed to becoming his pet in the first place.  
“No,” she retorted swiftly. “No.”  
The Slytherin’s who had started to follow stepped back again as Draco Malfoy spun on toe and brought his face right next to hers with a sharp glare.  
“No?” He repeated loudly.  
“No,” she echoed back in a quieter tone. “The terms of our agreement. You broke them. I’m not your pet any longer. Your rules on wizards don’t apply to me anymore.”  
He clenched his jaw. If he had been angry before, fury was what he felt at that. The furrow of his brow was so tight that it had to hurt. “You so sure about that one, Granger?”  
If there had not been an audience to their fight, she would have bet there would be more words from his lips. She, however, used the crowd to her advantage. Something she learned from her time in the ranks of Slytherin. It left her a prime opportunity to rip herself away without his outward wrath. Then she would fold herself into her friends and never be caught alone where he could wiggle his way back in.  
The bastard didn’t trust her and treated her like property. If he wanted her to be his friend, he had to learn limits. Actual boundaries. No one gave him boundaries since he did as he pleased.   
Hermione stood firm through her desire to talk it out. She let her anger fill her up.  
“I’ll never be yours again,” she whispered.  
She stormed off to class without another word. Part of her was actually surprised that he hadn’t chased after her. That hurt.   
Hermione latched on to Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil (_a true sign of how furious she was to forget just how much she disliked the two witches_) and allowed them to fill her ear with nonsense at their table. She avoided Draco’s stare. It climbed over her flesh. Her body knew his gaze out of a crowd and this one was intense. She tried to pretend not to notice the attempts he made to try to win her attention with a shower of snow flurries over her head and whipping paper birds past her ears. No, she stayed at full attention elsewhere.  
The mad dash out of the class was more of a challenge. She had to nimbly descend the winding staircase to avoid his quick steps after her. More than once she felt his heat on her back, as if he was close.   
She pushed through her classmates and off deep into the castle. It was the last class of the day. That left open time to head to the library.  
Though, that would be the first place he’d look.  
Hermione was furious that she was pushed out of her favorite place by the bloody wanker. It was not defeat, but she marched to Gryffindor Tower and stayed there. She stayed in for supper. She stayed in all night. It was the little protection she had.   
Of course, the dreaded day dawned all too soon. The Quidditch match with Slytherin and the start of her patrol week. She had lost track of whom she would patrol with again since they all switched like crazy. Ron did not want to patrol on the week of the match. Shocking. So it was left to the hands of fate.  
The entire student body of Slytherin house wore tacky green badges with ‘Weasley is our King’. It was an odd statement. They wore them proudly. A tease on Ron all day. She hated them.  
To her, it was not a mystery as to who was behind the damn attempt to wreck Ron’s concentration. There was only one wizard on a quest to destroy Ron Weasley so bad. That was Draco Malfoy, the last person on Earth she wanted to remember.   
Merlin, she wanted to scream. That oaf was so self-absorbed. And bloody possessive. It was like he didn’t trust her not to snog every wizard she met.  
That was just stupid. She did not want to snog Ronald Weasley. He was her friend. Best friend.   
“You look ready to kill somebody, Mione.” Ginny pulled her bright red and gold knitted hat over top her straight red hair.   
Hermione growled. “I am.”  
“Look on the bright side.” The witch grinned. “The miserable sod might fall off his broom and pull a groin muscle.”  
As comforting as it was to picture, it did not make her feel better. It made her worried, though she would never admit that’s what it was. She crossed her arms and stomped her foot.  
“It won’t happen twice. I’m not that lucky.”  
“Gah. He really did a number on you. I hope he actually falls and busts his head for that.”  
“He went too far, you know.” Her hands were fists as they marched out to the Pitch. The boys were already down, ready with the team in their matching uniforms of burgundy. “Ronald and I are only friends. Only have been. Just friends. _Friends_. Friends!”  
“Just friends. I got it,” Ginny exclaimed.   
It was warmer out. A bit of a blessing for those who were stuck in the stands. Hermione was bundled in a scarf beneath her black jumper and under the Weasley Gryffindor hat similar to Ginny’s. The sun peeked through fluffy white clouds. A gentle breeze pushed through every so often, but only in a fragile vengeance.   
Her fingers were stiff even in the thick embrace of her mittens.   
“He better not try to talk to me,” Hermione rattled out. “I swear to Godric, Merlin, and Joseph, I will hex him all the way to the Chamber of Secrets if he thinks he can just apologize to talk to me.”  
“Keep it down, would you? People are starting to look.”  
She hugged herself tighter. “Do you think he’ll apologize?”  
The witch shrugged. “How should I know? You just said you didn’t want him to.”  
“But I do,” she said. “I do.”  
She watched Gryffindor win the match. It was eventful, albeit not as eventful as the brawl that happened when George and Harry attacked Draco. She was mortified. Umbridge came and ripped all of Harry and George and Fred’s privileges away from them. That meant no Quidditch.  
Hermione was furious. She never felt so mad.   
It was like the time when she was eleven. An old man at a local convenience shop poked fun at her front teeth. Her magic was almost visible. It filled her up. It wanted release. The first thing she would look at would fly in his direction. Then another. Soon she would be surrounded by an entire room of levitating objects flittering themselves about.  
Of course, it was no good that Hagrid returned at the start of her weekly patrol. She had to track down a Hufflepuff named Susan Bones and ask her to switch. The witch agreed because she was a Hufflepuff and more than happy to help so Hermione was free to sneak out with her boys down to Hagrid’s cottage.  
It balanced things out. She was haunted by Hagrid’s news, as she expected she would be with Death Eaters winning so much support by their violent tactics, but it felt back at home with Harry and Ron again. She felt settled.  
So much time with Draco and the Slytherins made the previous years feel as though something had changed with Cedric Diggory’s death. That she was meant to be protected by enemies, not her friends. Somehow she’d gotten Draco’s silly obsession stuck beneath her skin so deep that she hadn’t wanted to pull his splinter out.   
Hagrid reminded her of the world outside. The atmosphere was dense and troubling. Danger lurked in every space, even comfortable ones.   
Hermione lingered closer to Harry and Ron that night as they sneaked back into the castle. She held their hands, happy to be rooted to her best friends, reminded of just how much they were meant to be together.  
That didn’t last. It was a momentary feeling that did not last.  
Her heart burned when she had to see him again. The wizard. He had the gall to look at her! Look at her! Over a breakfast table. The nerve of him. That bastard!  
She stomped through the castle with little patience for anything. Ron’s eyes went wide, and he steered clear when he saw her. He pulled on Harry’s shoulder, too.  
“You don’t want any part of that, mate. Trust me,” Ron mumbled.  
“What?” Harry asked.  
“I’ve got a sister and a mum,” he said lowly. “When they look like that, it is not the time to be in their sights. They’ll eat your heart out. Just let her go and fizzle out on her own.”  
Hermione saw the exchange and glared, very openly, at the pair stumbling out of her way. She hadn’t the time. The time nor the energy to complain about their untucked ties and wrinkled shirts or the mess of papers stuck between their books. If she started, there would be no stop.  
Every class Harry and Ron made sure to talk quietly to not interrupt her thoughts and offered her the first choice at lunch. It appeased her well enough. She didn’t snap. But her anger was very obvious.  
“Say, Hermione. Is something on your mind?” Harry asked. “You seem a bit…”  
Ron couldn’t hand over the sugar fast enough. He whimpered softly when Harry didn’t finish his sentence.  
“A bit what?” she snapped.  
“Tense,” Harry answered.  
Her eyes flared. “I am tense. Harry James Potter. Look at what’s going on. Umbridge. The news that Hagrid gave. All these changes. Denial of You-Know-Who. Who wouldn’t be tense in times like these? I’ve got O.W.L.’s to study for, something I notice you two haven’t even started yet, and the rest of these bloody classes to worry about.”  
The wizards sat there with the widest, shocked eyes. A dumbfounded look on their faces.  
She wanted to comfort it away and then slap them for their ignorance then cry for all the emotions onslaught on once.   
It was what she deserved, for getting her hopes up about the future. For forgetting the nature of the world outside and letting a smidge of desire overcloud her better judgement. It was all her rightful reward for such romanticized hopes. She should ache. She should yearn. She should be disappointed.  
A friendship with Draco was never to end up right. If you could call it friendship. Whatever it was, it was over and ended. Good riddance. She should have done it weeks ago. It was her own fault. She deserved the pain it brought.  
Ron was quiet about what happened with Draco. He didn’t ask.   
Harry, on the other hand, made no effort to express himself when it came to Malfoy, which aided her emotions in reaching a crimson peak of anger.  
“I don’t know how you couldn’t see it. He’s evil. He’s been so for years,” Harry said. “The whole lot of them Slytherins are. Can’t trust a one. Not one.”  
It hurt. The stinging in her eyes rose when she wanted to defend them. She didn’t believe they were evil. In her time with them, she saw some tension and teasing, not different than what the twins did to young Gryffindors. Most of them were normal. Normal students with different interests than the rest; they kept to themselves. But overall, she wasn’t scared of them. Only at first.  
Now she wouldn’t blink to be in their company.  
She actually missed it.  
“They treated Hermione alright, didn’t they?”  
It was so sweet of Ron to be supportive. In her darkest hours she needed that.  
“Who’s to say if that was real? He probably wanted information on me. You didn’t tell him anything, right? You know just what he’ll do with it. He’ll turn us all in and have Umbridge expel us,” Harry said.  
She bristled. “Of course not! I would never. And shame on you for implying that I would.”  
Of all the stupidest things he’s said!  
Hermione gathered her belongings. The Great Hall was the last place she wanted to be.  
“I’ve got to go,” she mumbled as she threw her books into her bag.  
Ron’s brow fell. “Where you goin’?”  
“To spend some time with the only person who isn’t a blooming moron,” she answered. “Myself.”  
She was one of the first to leave the meal. Each table was full of students. She ran into students still coming in rather than leaving. Their faces looked at her curiously as she marched away.   
Lunch left the rest of the castle deserted. The corridors were empty, devoid of human or ghost. The echoing on the walls was just her own feet against stone as she walked.  
The cold hadn’t managed to puncture her yet with its frigid fingers. She only wore her white school shirt, tie, and a skirt with no leggings beneath. Not once had she shuttered. She’d forgotten all about cold with the writhing anger she had. It fed her warmth. It kept her distracted.  
Why had he gone and done it? Why did he start after Ron? He knew she wouldn’t stand for it. It was her best friend. She loved Ronald, very much, and couldn’t stand the pain it put him in to be taunted relentless over something that made him anxious already.   
If she was honest with herself, and Godric she hated doing that, she was disappointed in Draco. He’d betrayed her. That hurt the most.  
They were something. Everyone saw it. They were something special, but a few things with Ronald and he threw it all away for a stupid Quidditch song which didn’t even win him the match. She hoped that burned him like it did her.  
What a waste.  
She was climbing the staircase when a soft paw touched her shin. Down at her feet was the small soft kitten of solid white. His shiny blue eyes looked at her with their wide wonder. She felt the wisdom seep in from his beautiful gaze.  
She bent over and scratched him behind the ear. “Hello Drogon. Out for a visit, are you?”  
Her heart slowed as she petted the creature. It didn’t stir. He let her cuddle and snuggle and scratch him whatever way she wanted.   
Hermione smoothed her skirt and sat beside him on the stair. He looked at her with those knowing eyes.  
“I don’t know how it got all messed up,” she whispered, half in thought. “It was all so perfect.”  
She sighed and rubbed her cheek against Drogon’s. He pushed into it. It was nice for the returned affection for once. All too often she felt the only one who offered herself out for affection only to never get any in return.  
A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye. “What am I going to do?”  
The cat yowled a warning. Hermione pulled away. Drogon had his limits.  
She wiped her cheeks with her palms. “Right. Sorry.”  
His eyes closed gently, an almost smile appeared on his face. He pulled at his collar until a piece of parchment stuck out the edge.   
“Hang on. What’s this?”  
She gasped when she read it. It was a note from Draco.   
_You’ll always be mine._  
The idea to crinkle it up, rip it to shreds and send it back to him crossed her mind. It was the smallest amount of revenge she could muster without getting detention. But, her heart was against it. She couldn’t bring herself to ruin the perfect way he wrote her name, all precise and even. Like he took time with it. Because she mattered.  
It gave her a momentary lapse of judgement. The slightest.  
She slipped a note back under Drogon’s collar that was meant for him. The little cat waddled out of sight in the dark of the corridor with a faster pace than he typically walked. She was glad for the hustle. It gave him time to get away before she tried to wrestle the note away from him.  
It was stupid. So, so stupid. Why had she written back to him?  
Had she no backbone?!  
Luckily class was about to start so she had to rush to that and forget all about the note. And forget she did. Her entire day was filled with class and studying and assignments with the two boys as they tried to catch up. She answered their questions, though with a less than patient attitude.  
“You should know that by now, Ronald.” She groaned.  
They were hopeless! Neither would make intuitive leaps.   
“Honestly. Don’t you two ever listen? Flitwick said this word for word.”  
Harry’s squinted through his glasses. “When?”  
“Ages ago!” She answered, exasperated. “Don’t you remember?”  
“It’s hopeless. I’m never going to get this right,” Ron murmured bent over his roll of parchment, palm against his forehead.   
She was beginning to feel the same way.   
Hermione fell face first into bed. It was before curfew, but she was too exhausted to stay awake another minute. Her curls exploded in a mess around her head as she just laid there. Breathing. It was all she wanted to do.  
The rest of her dorm mates were in the common room. It left the room entirely empty and perfect.  
She wanted to sip a hot cup of tea with Bleak House in her hand and drift asleep between pages.   
Drogon suddenly appeared at the edge of her bed. She dropped her book.   
“Oh. Drogon. You scared me,” she said.   
She was glad she hadn’t dropped her tea. That would have been a blistery mistake.  
He had another note. His tail pulled at the taut collar at his neck until the parchment fell out.   
Finally, some answers she needed. She opened the note quickly.  
However, it gave little what she hoped for as was Draco Malfoy’s way.   
_Stop avoiding me and I’ll tell you myself. Scared of me, Granger?_  
“I asked him why he bullied Ron and this is his reply. Can you believe that?” She showed the parchment to the cat. He appraised it closely.  
Scared of him? Of course, she was scared! She was terrified of what she might do in his presence. Her fury was not subsided, but neither was the yearning, longing, total regret that she held in her heart for the wizard. She liked the routine she made with Draco. He’d loosened up his rules yet still watched over her carefully.   
Now look at what had happened. Malfoy enticed Harry and George to a fight. They were lucky to be only banned from Quidditch and not expelled.  
Hermione wrote her reply simply. _Honoring curfew is not avoidance._  
The emotions of her heart kept her primed for Drogon’s return. In his absence, Gryffindor Tower tucked in for a night’s sleep. All the witches of Hermione’s dormitory readied themselves with face masks of green and mask and laid their heads against pillows.   
Lavender snored within three minutes of falling asleep. Her best friend, Pavarti, was still awake.  
“I told her she snores.” The witch shook her head. “She doesn’t believe me.”  
Pavarti swung a silencing ward overtop of Lavender’s bed so the rest of them might get some sleep. Hermione counted the minutes as they dragged on while her other roommates read books or filed their nails. It took forever. She was about to sip a Sleeping Draught into Romilda’s tea when the witch finally rolled over to her stomach and stopped moving.  
She sighed in relief when the little creature turned the knob of the door, rode the door as it creaked open and hopped down from the brass handle. His tail flicked the door shut.   
_Then meet me by Boris the Bewildered if you’re not avoiding me._  
She hastily wrote her reply. Her need to know why was stronger than the desire to see his arrogant face.  
_No. I want answers. Why did you do it?_  
The reply was almost instantaneous from Drogon. Her eyebrows raised as he approached her.   
“So soon?” She muttered. “If I didn’t know better, he was right outside.”  
Drogon tilted his head. His eyes were wide and brilliant blue.  
“I know. I know.” She covered her eyes and held her face gently. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. Your loyalties are a mystery to me. He bought you. How can I trust that you’re not spying on me for him?”  
He chirped in his high-pitched tone. The cat sat. The slender white tail wrapped around his body and moved with the slightest vibration. His eyes remained steady with hers.  
“You brought me the jumper, remember?”  
Drogon let out a warning yowl.  
“I know you peed on it after the Quidditch game. That’s not the point.”  
There were gentle sleeping sighs from her roommates as they turned in their beds, stirred by the conversation between Hermione and her familiar. She’d forgotten to cast a silencing ward around her bed. Her face instantly fell. What if someone had heard?  
She quickly assembled her ward around the pair of them. Her cat was not the least bit bothered. He was not afraid to meow and hiss when he wanted. It was so rare that it was definitely noticeable when he made any noise, let alone a loud one.  
Drogon arched his neck forward where a corner of aged parchment stuck. Neatly folded.  
_Compromise means that we both get what we want. I’ll give your answers. You come out of hiding to get them face to face. You can’t hide from me forever._  
She hated it. She hated it as she stuffed her toes into warm socks. She hated the woolen jumper as it itched her neck. She especially hated the chill that came from the empty corridors of the castle.  
It was past curfew. Black swallowed up everything. The occasional torch against the walls did little to illuminate all shadows.   
Hermione kept her wand at the ready as she hugged herself.  
Drogon led the way. He’d read the note and knew where they were expected. He looked down every corridor they crossed; entirely sure they were not about to be caught out after curfew before he continued.   
It was sweet when he turned around. He would watch her walk a minute before he started leading once more.   
Then he stopped. His ears twisted forward. The blazing height of his attention was his tell that someone was there. It was not a question. They were both too attune to the presence of the other to not recognize the feel as they drew near.  
“Finally got the Gryffindor Princess out her precious golden tower,” he said bitterly.  
“I’m here.” She stopped. Her arms crossed her chest. “Tell me why.”  
He scoffed. “That’s it? That’s all I get? Do you forget who I am, pet? Do you forget the nature of this arrangement?”  
The strong scent of his cologne invaded her senses. It made impurity a forefront. She struggled against the allure with the anger.   
Think of Ron. Think of George and Harry and Fred.  
Her face burned bright. “_Did you?!_”   
The power in her voice was surprising. She couldn’t remember the last time she spoke that loud.  
Draco remained intense as he watched with narrowed eyes.  
“What you did to Ron was unforgivable,” she uttered. “Harry and the twins, too. You had to go and screw it up! And I don’t even understand why. Things were going just fine. Great, even. And then you started those awful rumors! Those taunts. Godric I can’t even look at your face, Draco.”  
Her fury fed his.   
“_I’m_ not the one parading around the castle with that pathetic excuse of a wizard, Weasley. I had to watch as you touched him, embraced him, in front of everyone. Me included!” His voice was wild with anger, as were his eyes. They were filled with his overflowed venom. “Then I find you two, off on your own. For Salazar sakes! Do you think I like the idea of you two off on your own little Potter group doing Merlin knows what with all your little friends? The wizard is going to get ideas. Ideas that he is damn wrong about, I’ll have you know. Damn wrong.”  
Hermione trembled from anger. “You had no right.”  
Somehow, her statement amused him. He started to chuckle which only made her feel worse. She was tense and full of that brimming fury over his actions.  
“No right,” he repeated with a sneer. “I have the only right. You are my pet.”  
“So, you thought instead of talking to me or just telling him to not look down my shirt, you had the entire school singing that horrible song and bullying him?” It was meant to be sarcastic. Her tone was clearly implied.  
Draco went rigid. “That Weasel’s looked down your shirt?”   
Then he went a shade of rage she never saw before. It was all his angriest expressions and actions all pressed into one. Every knuckle of his hand cracked from the strong grip of his fist. His teeth grinded so loud it produced an echo within the corridor.   
“No. He didn’t. It’s an expression,” she answered, exhausted from all the shouting.  
Things with Draco were straining. A mental strain. One minute things were great, then perfect, then depressing and scary, then utterly awful. He made things more difficult. It was his own stubborn nature that did it. Hers didn’t do them any favors either.   
It was silent for the first time since she arrived. Draco kept his anger bottle up, perhaps reflecting on the emotions or his next move in the ultimate game.  
She knew that’s all it was. He lost control at times, but there was ulterior motive. Something he refused to permit her to see. The letter from his mother and his refusal to even gloat about their distaste of her. It made things confused in her mind.  
Added atop those concerns were the livelihood of her friends as inconsequential as it was. Given the state of the world, school concerns seemed so small. But Harry’s life was the focus of the efforts of many. He mattered. Things at Hogwarts that concerned him, mattered.   
She exhaled deeply. Her hands touched her forehead. Everything was so jumbled up in it. Maybe if she shook it violently all her thoughts would fall into their correct places and let her proceed with certainty.  
“I don’t want you around him anymore,” he mumbled.   
Hermione shook her head. “No. I won’t agree to that.”  
“You have to. You’re my pet.”  
“Only if it’s my way too!” Her foot stomped against the floor. “I won’t give up Ron.”  
A roar rumbled at the back of his throat. “No Weasley.”  
“No!”  
Soon enough, their voices were loud enough to rip through the castle, disturbing the occupants within numerous portraits and wandering ghosts. Not to mention the patrollers of the halls. Hurried steps hit their eyes rather quickly. They shared a moment of concern.  
They couldn’t be caught out past curfew. Neither McGonagall nor Snape would allow them to forget their disappointment in the rule breaking of their two most highest held students. Draco, less so, but he was a Slytherin Prefect. They revoked points for rule breakers all the time. How could they patrol halls if they were the ones being caught out of bed?  
Drogon clawed at her leg furiously. Time to go.  
“Come on,” Draco motioned to go behind the portrait into the loo.  
She hesitated. There was only one thing worse than being caught out past curfew with a wizard: it was being caught out past curfew with a wizard in a private room.  
He glared with a piercing gaze that warned of his disapproval of her distrust. His hands just about pulled her off her feet through the door.  
They stayed perched against the door to listen as the monitor crossed the portrait. It was difficult to guess who it was that was on patrol. She thought it might be Ernie MacMillian and perhaps Pansy Parkinson. The thought made her cringe.   
Breath refused to leave their lungs until they heard the steps retreat out of earshot.  
It was the closest Hermione had been to Draco in over a week. She felt the heat that radiated off his chest. It warmed her cold cheek. His breath, too, she felt against her face, warming whatever flesh it touched. It was a welcome sensation.   
The time apart left certain holes within her life that she noticed more clearly since he had filled them. Draco was the one bit of intimacy in her life. Their time together marked private moments that were firsts in her mind, to be there forever. Nothing that was shared with Harry or Ron. Her own slice of Hogwarts that was not theirs.   
She almost whimpered when she pulled away from the door, and thus, his warmth.  
“Promise me,” Draco muttered.  
Hermione shrugged. “Pardon?”  
“Promise me that you will not be alone with him anymore.”  
“Ronald and I are just friends, Draco.”  
“Promise. Promise me that he is not and will not be your boyfriend. You won’t be alone together. You won’t be disappearing off for hours alone leaving me to wonder where you are.”  
It was not right. He had no power to make demands like that.   
She raised her finger, weaker in her conviction when she felt the urge, the blinding need to crack under his pressure. “You broke the agreement.”  
“So did you.”  
The look in his grey eyes overpowered her resolve. She hated their separation. She missed the Slytherins, and Crabbe and Goyle’s grumpy faces as they followed her around the castle. The way Draco always kept her by his side and pretended to dislike her when she knew he did.   
But Ron. Harry….  
What he’d done was so horrible and he’d done it to hurt her. He was angry. He lashed out without even asking. That was perhaps what hurt worst; he didn’t trust her. It was all an arrangement to him. His pet game, nothing more. She meant nothing but a thing to control to his pleasure.  
A stray tear ran down her cheek. She swiped it away. “Fine. I promise.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support on this story. I read all the comments and am blessed by all the kudos. Honestly I'm astounded this fic has been so well received! This has become a prime project of mine because I'm enchanted with how much the story has developed and turned into something I hadn't even intended it to be. There will be more to come. :)   
ALSO: UPCOMING LEMON.

### CHAPTER 15

#### The Thaw

Hermione climbed flight after flight up to the clock tower. The structure swayed with each swing of the heavy pendulum down below. It was a depressing feature, one that never quite belonged within Hogwarts. It was straight out of a Poe nightmare than a magical school. It never ceased its reminder of the passage of time. Back and forth, dull and menacing at the same time. The ticking crawl of time as it swung through the days.   
She shivered when the wind whipped through. It was colder than it should be. The days felt devoid of all warmth.   
It was days since Draco and Hermione made amends. Albeit, it did little to ease her sadness.  
Her emotions still had to thaw from the cold sting of his revenge against her friends.   
Her heart thudded with sorrow each day. Their time spent together reminded her of that gaping hole where a fiery presence was. She felt overcome with emotion so strongly she had to hold back tears for hours until she was safe in her dormitory with Drogon across her chest. His little arms cradled her hair as she held him. Streams of tears wetting his fur, something he hated with a passion. Yet he stayed there in her arms until she fell asleep.  
The joy to do anything was gone, too.   
No book fluttered her interest. No question of a professor encouraged her to open her mouth.   
She was empty. Nothing. Draco’s little pet to play with, insignificant and worthless.  
He never cared for it. It was a lie. A big stinking fat lie.  
Hermione dropped her bags, removed her jumper, gloves, hat, socks, and shoes, and embraced the frigid cold of the metal clock tower as it consumed her nerves. It brought balance to the devoid body she now resided in.   
The hurt started at her fingertips. The creeping numbness ascended her arms in hunger for all of her. It climbed up her legs to her knees. Her breath formed fluffy white clouds as she exhaled with all her strength.   
She was allured by the pain it brought. The struggle to move, the struggle to breath, the struggle to overcome. It eased her mental pain. Concern over her worth left when the pounding of her heart began to sting as cold blood pushed through her warm flesh, splintering every function with devastating effects.   
If he did not care, then she did not care either. Let her body freeze solid. Let it die.   
It took very little time to turn purple. Her lips burned against the strength of the Scottish wind. It turned hot with each swipe. Her fingers became stiff. The harder she tried to bend them, the less they complied.  
For once, it made sense. Her body and mind were one.  
She walked atop very cold metal with her bare feet. At times, the soft flesh of her toes stuck to the metal as she glided, unbothered by the creeping sensations of death and blistery pain of each breath of wind as it exhaled.  
Then came blue. Her knuckles, fingers, the back of her hands were all blue.   
Whatever relief that came from it, she couldn’t give word to it. It just felt right. Freezing her body balanced the numb of everything else.   
She hadn’t noticed Draco’s angry entrance until his hands landed atop her shoulders and whipped her body around.   
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” He shouted. There was sheer bewilderment in his eye. He pulled his (second) coat off and placed it over her shoulders. “How long has she been up here?”  
Crabbe and Goyle lingered near the stairs. They didn’t dare come near.  
“Only an hour,” Crabbe replied.   
Draco growled. “She’s been freezing for an hour?”  
He was irate. The other black coat was yanked from his body, then his mittens.   
“You two better not be here when I turn around,” he said with restrained fury. It was clear that it was not a mood to test him on. They shuffled out of focus back through the opening of the staircase just as soundlessly as they had appeared.  
She stood and shivered. He watched her with a frustrating scowl. He pulled at his body with startling urgency.  
Draco casted a warming spell around Hermione and he. The air warmed. It did little to calm the wind burn against her cheeks and nose and hands. The soles of her feet no longer stuck to the metal, but they still burned like it.   
The fuzzy mink hat plopped over her head as he opened her arms. “Hug me.”  
She stumbled back away from him. Or, she thought she had. The numbness made it difficult to determine what exactly she did.   
Draco met her eyes with his blazing light. He unbuttoned his shirt. Her eyes bulged in panic, but she was unable to move. Was he going to assault her? Was this how he liked it? Godric, was she hallucinating?  
He grabbed her arms and laced them through his shirt around his waist, inhaling in pain as her cold fingers ghosted his spine. “Salazar’s bloody bullocks! You’re ice cold.”  
Folds of his clothes wrapped around both their bodies as he pulled her chest right against his. She shivered violently. His body shook as a result. He enveloped her flesh as much as he could. It was clear he was concerned about her state. The vigorous rub against her back was so tense it almost started a fire.  
“Ow. Not so hard,” she whimpered into his shirt. Her voice was fragile. A sheet of thin ice through the frigid cold.   
He growled but eased his pressure. “It’s to warm you so you don’t freeze to death, you stupid witch. Just what were you thinking? Do you like blackened fingers? Perhaps wish for some extra room in your shoes for when your toes fall off?”  
Her cheek rested against his shoulder. It reminded her of the Quidditch locker room.   
She missed those days.   
“Answer me, pet.”  
His touch against her back awoke her from a daze. She blinked back fire.  
“Have you got a death wish?”  
“No,” she answered softly.  
“Do you get a thrill out of freezing?”  
“No.”  
It was like she was the disobedient child, he the caregiver in shock and alarm. Which she knew to be a lie.  
“Then what is it?” He groaned in frustration as his hands moved to rubbing her thighs and feet. He curled her feet against his body at the base of his spine with a sudden shudder. Although he was furious, he worked at her flesh to warm the blood within its veins. “Do you just want to torture me? Is that it? You’d rather freeze to death than be without Weasley? What?”  
She shook her head. There was no answer that she could give.   
Draco turned her face so that he could examine her. “Answer me.”  
That frightening tone was not easy to forget. It rumbled up fear in her belly. She worried what he might do if she remained silence.   
He was ugly when he was angry. The emotion tainted his beauty to demon. The light of his eyes drowned by a darkness inside him. She watched it take over with little resistance.   
“It doesn’t matter,” her lips whispered. They burned to move. Her top lip accidently touched her bottom lip and it sent a sharp sting through her face. She swallowed it back. “I don’t matter.”  
His fingers kept her face turned toward him. He would not allow her to look away.  
The strength of his eyes drilled right through to her soul. “Don’t you ever do this to yourself. Do you hear me? Promise me you won’t do this again.”  
She nodded against his shoulder, but it wasn’t good enough. He wanted words.  
“I promise,” she managed to mutter.  
“Good.”  
His attention turned back to her frozen body. He rubbed her toes, ensuring each one was able to move before tucking them within his shirt and scowling sharply as their frozen bodies touched his flesh. Her thighs were awakened by his hands. As were her arms. He touched her throat down to her chest, massaging warmth back to the tissues.  
“Anything else you can’t feel?” He asked.  
She groaned. “My arse hurts.”  
That was where his hands went. Right onto the soft flesh of her arse and massaged circles into the sore muscles, his palms the only source of heat to revitalize them.   
Her eyes were closed as she laid against his warmth. It was the most comfortable she’d felt in a while. His scent filled her lungs. The rise and fall of his chest with each breath calmed her heart back to rhythm as he cradled her there, into his embrace.  
“Better?”  
Hermione nodded. “Much.”  
Every part of her awakened and warmed back from the grips of frostbite, Draco wrapped his arms across her back and pulled her deeper. Her arms tightened in response. She moved her cheek against his neck in the small nook that was the perfect spot for it and instantly sighed the relief within herself.   
She missed him. She needed the intimacy that he gave.   
Once given, it was too intoxicating to go without.   
Silence spread throughout the empty clock tower. It was a cold day. Most were huddled up inside the castle with their assignments where it was warm. Neither worried of their discovery. The clock tower was a forgotten secret space. With all the spare rooms in the castle, the cover of the Black Forest, the rolling expanse of the grounds and all the privacy wards taught, there were better areas to snog in secret. The cold jutted metal of the clock tower created a rather dismal mood than romantic.   
Still, Hermione felt a stir. Her own sensations arose with strength throughout her limbs. She was rather aware of his body beneath hers and exactly what rested right below her own pleasure center was his. The zipper of his trousers was bunched up high. It’s peak jutted right against the inner lining of her jeans.   
Her eyes fluttered up to his. He stared at a distance far away from the clock tower out over the courtyard and foot bridge. The greenery of the Haunted Wood rested along the horizon. It was a mystery to what he focused upon or if it was really there at all. His eyes swam with retrospection. The harder he thought, the farther his mind pulled him.  
A thought of displeasure bristled Hermione as she laid against his protective embrace.   
His thoughts should be there with her. The only thing he should stare at was her face buried within the scent of his clothes as he shared his warmth with her. His chest bared open in vulnerability. She was owed the moment. It was her turn for attention.  
She rubbed her nose against the softness of his throat. A gentle moan placed upon the flesh. Innocent and seemingly accidental.   
His body responded to it before his eyes did. Beneath her, he flexed tight. The muscles of his chest retracted, as his arms tensed their hold. The soft comfort he’d had banished with one wisp of allure.  
Draco glanced down at her, cuddled against him with a curious look. He was not certain. There was distrust of how he should respond.  
She blinked up at him through thick lashes and feigned indifference to his reaction. “Hm?” She hummed.  
“Come,” he said. His hands pushed her upright, still astride his magnificent body but now in the light of his vision. The grey of his eyes trailed down her throat. It lit her belly aflame. When his eyes dipped down to her breasts where two the traitorous bumps of her nipples protruded from beneath her shirt.   
Her eyes stayed steady at his face as he observed her body. Every so often they flickered back to her face in challenge or in search of permission.  
Fingers tensed against her hips. Both of his hands anchored her to him, only to be done at the release of his hold.   
“I like this color on you.” He thumbed the sleeve of her shirt before he returned the hold back to her hip. “It brings out your eyes.”  
A faint smile touched her lips.  
“What I dislike is the missing of an important garment.” There was question in his eyes when they met hers. “Tell me no one else sees you like this, pet.”  
Hogwarts was a drafty castle. She wore layers upon layers. Jumpers covered her chests so that her torso was molded to that of a boy. Breasts barely noticeable beneath the fabrics. It was easy to forgo a bra when her skin was miles beneath the surface.   
The only reason he saw them now was because she removed all those layers.  
Hermione swallowed. “No one.”  
“Not even that Weasel?”  
Her body was too lured by lust to defend Ron. It slipped right off her mind.  
“Not even that weasel’s sister.”  
Draco smirked. His eyes drifted back to her body. “Good. I might have cursed them all if they had…You, pet, are for my eyes only.”  
She shifted her weight, flattered and suddenly shy as the main specimen in his eye. As her weight shifted, something changed. Her entire body was overcome with a fleeting moment of indescribable pleasure that sent a shiver through her thighs.  
Her eyes went wide in surprise. Her chest heaved in excitement.  
“Are you still cold?” Draco asked. His brow flexed, surprised himself by the visible reaction throughout her. No doubt the shuddering of her thighs alongside his hips encouraged naught thoughts of his own.   
She shook her head. “No. Um. No.”  
Silver eyes narrowed to slits of suspicion. “Then what was that?”  
“Not sure.” She ran a hand through her curls. “You must have touched something.”  
“Like what?”  
She started to shift again. “I don’t kno - .”  
Her statement was ended with an involuntary moan. It erupted out her throat just as soon as it entered.  
Suddenly, she remembered the bulge in his pants and the way it pressed against her clit through her jeans. She glanced down at the erection there now, too. It jutted into the divot of her clit, rubbing the sensitive flesh against the fabric. Her slit went slick when she saw it.   
His cock pressed against her, the reason for her momentary ecstasy.  
Draco’s eyes followed her to the same conclusion. It rose stiffer in his pants thus against her clit. She gasped out, one hand thrown to his shoulder and gripped it tightly as her body shivered.   
“Sorry,” she breathed when her eyes met his. A hot blush consumed her cheeks.   
He was not so bashful. His body flexed. It drove his cock deeper into her soft flesh, tighter against her clit and more tingles spread out through her core.   
Their eyes met. Faces drawn close together. Something in his eyes searched for a shred of discontent as his hands ghosted down the length of her zipper toward the juicy spot his cock teased. She leaned into his touch.  
The hot need for something inside grew too large to resist. She wanted that spot of hers to be filled with him. His cock to push through her barriers and spread his seed all through her like something he owned and treasured as he pleasured her body in ways unthinkable.   
There was urgency on his hands as he unbuttoned her pants and ripped the zipper apart.   
She gasped out. He stopped like he had just been caught.  
“Don’t stop,” she said. A smirk came to his delectable lips. How much she liked their taste. “Don’t stop.”  
His hand wiggled between her skin and knickers. They brought relief and tension. The slick wet of her folds was parted then invaded by his touch as the length of his fingers entered her.  
Hermione captured his lips hot in a needy kiss as he discovered parts that even she hadn’t entered. Muscles in her thighs pulled tight. She shifted more weight onto the sole two fingers perched in her opening as he shagged her endlessly with them.   
His tongue entered her mouth just as his third fingers slipped into her body. Sensation was all over Hermione’s body: One hand fucked her body with vigor as the other held her hip, rocking it back and forth against him, as their lips joined. Lust was spread. Her nipples ached against the pull of her shirt. They yearned for attention.   
“Like this.”  
She heard it like a question more than a statement. Her body loved the friction, but some other part of her wanted attention more.  
Her hand grabbed his, slowly, and raised his fingers to the delicate bump within her folds that really sparked fire.  
The moment he swirled her own wet against the eager clit, she was in vocal raptures. A deep primal moan parted her lips, spread through his succulent mouth and back down his own throat where the intimidating growl turned sexual. He growled at her. Her body trembled in pleasure.  
They’d been in the midst of possibly shredding what little clothes they had left and shagging like mad when a loud sound echoed up through the clock tower.   
Draco froze. Almost frustrated.   
“Bullocks,” he growled. “Somebody’s coming.”  
“Huh?”  
His fingers pulled out of her pants. The cold air stung as it rushed through to her warmth.  
He started to button his shirt back with agile fingers that glistened in her juices. They pulled each button through without thought.   
She sat there, still mounted atop his body, confused. He grabbed the hat that was hastily pulled from her head at the start of their intense snog. Bits of the fur were coated in dust. He brushed them off quickly.  
“Put your jumper back on,” he instructed. “Put on all your clothes. You do have a jumper, don’t you?”  
She nodded. “Yes. This one.”  
He recoiled when he saw the red and golden knitted jumper from the hands of the Weasley matron. All the Weasleys, Harry and she wore them. Most were gifts for the holidays. She liked them. They were warm and thick, in colors that she adored. The giant H was a bit much, but it was still endearing.  
Mostly she enjoyed the smell that lingered in the fibers. Love and a wood burning stove. She relished it.  
Draco pushed her hips upward to standing. “Merlin, pet. That thing needs to be put out of its misery. Burned and buried somewhere.”  
She pulled it overtop her head. It was snug against her body. Draco eyed it closely. He gazed at her chest until he was certain no nipple showed and then continued to gather his own clothing.  
“Do I comment on your wardrobe?” She snipped as her bag was hoisted onto her shoulder.  
“You could,” he sneered. “If I ever wore anything that cost less than a hundred Galleons.”  
She casted an unamused glance. Money and fashion often coincided but were not synonyms.  
“One could say monochromatic is a tad morose,” she smirked as she headed down the stair.  
Draco was right on her heels. “Black is classic.”  
“Dated.”  
He hissed. “Timeless.”  
“Boring.”  
Crabbe and Goyle were at the base of the stair just off the courtyard. Their hands were shoved deep in their pockets. Crabbe’s nose was all red from the cold.  
Her heart stopped. Had they been there the whole time? A flurry of embarrassment rushed to her face as she tried to forget the possibility that they might have heard her moaning atop of Draco like a harlot.  
Draco grabbed hold of her jumper before she could walk away and kept her around as he spoke to his henchmen. They had just about answered his sharp demand of “What?” when an eye-watering smell of perfume flooded their noses as a more accurate response.   
Umbridge. She was donned in an all pink jumpsuit. A double strand of large pearls dangled around her neck. The witch dressed as innocent as a five-year-old but was poised and venomous as any other serpent.   
Hermione was pulled back to Draco’s side as Dolores Umbridge approached. His shoulders snapped back in their rigid, formal position.   
The witch smiled so sweetly it made Hermione’s stomach clench. “Mister Malfoy. Glad to see you not too traumatized by that attack by those uncultured boys.”  
It was too obvious that Goyle glanced over at Hermione, tucked in gently near Draco’s side.  
“The likes of those two don’t scare me, professor.” It was said in that self-entitled voice that Draco used when he acted his part as ‘Malfoy, enemy of everything’. She hated that voice, but with the literal incarnation of pure evil in her presence, Hermione was glad to have protection of the rowdy Slytherin Prince.  
“Had any harm befallen you and they might have been expelled for their deviancy,” Dolores Umbridge continued. “Those Gryffindors are a filthy breed. Muddled and violent. It is exactly why I came to this school.”  
“It is long overdue,” Draco replied.  
“That it is.” The woman smiled.  
She almost overlooked the presence of Hermione Granger completely. It was not until she happened to glance at the two brown eyes watching her carefully that she recognized her.  
“Oh! Miss Granger. What a quiet thing you are!” Umbridge giggled. “I see a friendship with Mister Malfoy has done you some good. Learned your place as it were. And what do you think of that brawl your friends proceeded to have upon your dear friend here. Weren’t you just horrified?”  
Horrified? She was horrified that Umbridge hadn’t been cursed by any good-natured person within the school. The woman was not fit to be a teacher, let alone representative of the Ministry.  
She had half a mind to tell the witch just what she thought when the memory of her letter to Lupin crossed her mind. She hadn’t heard back apart from an ominous ‘See you at Christmas’. It was not the advice she needed. There were larger things at work than Umbridge’s invasion of the school.  
The motivations of one Draco Malfoy concluded to be more important.  
Hermione bobbed her head. “Yes. Undignified. The lot of them.”  
Tears leapt to her eyes as she stood in the aftermath of her words. She wanted them shoved back in where they’d never emerge again.  
“You might have lost your best mentor,” Umbridge said with a click of her tongue. “And to think, the Hermione Granger can be molded. That bodes well for the future of Gryffindor. Good day.”  
She pranced along like the Queen herself, unburdened by her nastiness or evil beliefs. It was unfair how soundly that woman slept at night while all the moral beings tossed and turned with indecision and strife. Hermione hoped for the witch to drop dead. It was the only person she yearned to die on the planet, and she was unbothered by the notion that it was wrong.  
Draco put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. It was of little comfort.   
“Crabbe. Goyle. Walk Hermione back to her dorm,” Draco instructed. “Make sure she gets there safely.”  
So soon.   
“Can’t I go with you?” She bit her bottom lip.  
He paused. “It’s just practice. Awful cold and lonely in those stands.”  
A sparkle of delight and deviancy crossed her eye. “I know ways to keep warm.”  
Although he playfully cocked his eyebrow, he gestured for her to follow. She was giddy. Goyle walked ahead with Draco. They talked amongst themselves while Hermione and Crabbe lagged behind.   
It was a frigid day. The coming days would turn colder yet before the snows came. The end of term was close. Her pending holiday break found her thoughts frequently throughout the days when the wind turned cold and the hot scent of hot cocoa filled the dorm.   
“Glad you came around,” Crabbe said suddenly.  
Hermione was surprised. “Pardon?”  
“He’s been a handful since all that, you know. And that damn cat was worst. It shredded the drapes of the common room,” Crabbe said as he huffed it toward the Pitch. It was still in the distance. “The night after the match Draco was on patrol. He walked the castle all night. Looked like Merlin’s ghost the next morning.”  
She frowned. That was the night she traded her patrol rounds to sneak out to Hagrid’s cottage.   
He patrolled all night…  
“He has that bloody thing follow you through the castle.” She forgot that Crabbe still spoke. Her ears focused back to the sound of his monotone voice. “When she can’t find you, he sends us to. Come to find out, that little runt of yours was fighting her away. Wouldn’t let her pass to know where you were. Draco went ten shades of red at that. But your little thing, Drogon is his name isn’t it, wasn’t having it. We didn’t know where you were that week. Boy-o. Did we catch grief when we couldn’t find you. That’s all he did you know. Searched the castle. Wouldn’t rest without knowing where you was at.”  
Ahead, Draco looked over his shoulder to ensure she still trailed behind. He gave no tell, but Hermione believed it was something other than dedication to a goal. A Slytherin was determined, yes. But that bordered on obsession which was not a trait of the serpent.   
No. Something else worked inside of him.   
“Couldn’t have been much of a task,” she hummed. “I was everywhere in the castle.”  
“I know,” Crabbe said. Suddenly he reached down into his pocket, dug around, and produced a coin. Her enchanted coin! “You dropped this the other day.”  
She snatched it from his grasp. How had she not noticed it missing? “Thanks Crabbe.”  
“Don’t mention it.”  
Soon enough at the Pitch, they split. The players – Draco, Goyle, Crabbe included – entered their locker room to gather their gear while Hermione climbed into the stands to watch. She shivered as she entered the open expanse where the wind whipped her hair one way then another.   
“Bleeding November.” Her teeth chattered as she dug for her wand through her layers. A warming ward placed around her, a wind blocker for good measure, and she felt much better.   
She was much better in general. Her heart was not so heavy. Draco was back. It felt good to be back on his good side and be watched.  
However…her promise. She spent time with all the Weasleys. Ron was one of them. He was a dear, cherished friend. He bared the duty of keeping Harry sane and out of trouble all by himself. Sure she and him bickered like cats and dogs. Underneath it all, they cared very much about one another. They depended on each other.   
Draco made her promise not to be alone with him, a promise she wished she hadn’t made yet regretted the way she wanted Draco more than anything. After all the forced time in his company, she was rather charmed. His attention fed her desire to be noticed. His lips ravished the woman beneath it all. That woman was one who wished for all the ugliness and evil to be behind them so that she might find her place wherever she landed without stir of trouble of who she chose.   
Why, of all the fine, acceptable wizards there were in the world, did she want Draco Malfoy? Why was he the one who coursed her veins like a drug? Why was he the high?  
Ron deserved her affection more. Absolutely. 100%. It should be that redhead in her heart.  
And he was.   
Only, Draco Malfoy was there, too. Stronger. The burning passion that flooded her senses smelled of his musk. It tasted of his lips. Sensations over her skin late at night were Draco’s hands. Not Ron’s.   
Her face fell into her hands. Gah. When did her life get so messed up?  
It was easier when Draco was bad, and Ron was good. Or perhaps, maybe it was when she was good all throughout. It was impossible to say. She suspected that her heart changed. It was not sympathetic with the Malfoy causes the least bit, but she overlooked them in favor of Draco.   
Godric, she sounded like a lovesick puppy.  
Her face bleached. Hands clasped at the necklace around her neck and refused to let go. Even her jaw clenched together.  
Love. _Love._ Did she love Draco Malfoy? Is that what was wrong with her?  
It stunned her. The idea was totally foreign. So unfounded. Her guts felt loose and wiggly. She shifted in her seat as she tried to focus on the Quidditch practice in front of her. Her face flushed like she was the prime audience for all their attentions.   
She lasted only half of the practice before she turned tail and ran to the castle. Only one person on her mind the entire walk. It propelled her quickly through the corridors, only stopping to take points away from two Gryffindor boys levitating books out of an older girl’s reach.   
Her shoes slapped against the floors as she raced out toward the courtyard. That was where they usually hanged out during down time.   
The pulse that pounded like the tolling bell of Big Ben settled.  
“Ginny!” She called. There was not a moment to spare. A revelation this huge was meant to be talked through, perhaps given a trip to St. Mungos. Something was wrong with her. Hermione hopped down through to her friend. “Ginny. I need to borrow you.”  
Ginny shrugged. “What for?”  
“Now.” She grabbed hold of the witch’s wrist and pulled her away through to the Wooden Bridge.  
Foot traffic was scarce out there. It was easier to speak in private. Prying ears were all over Hogwarts. Umbridge had her own personal spies. It was very clear that both Ginny and Hermione were on that list as they were closely allied with Harry.   
Ginny waited, as a good friend did. She did not pry or push it. Her eyes remained focused as Hermione jumbled around with her curls then her hands. Where did she put her bloody hands? They shook all over the place.  
She ran them down the length of her jeans. The palms were so sweaty.   
“I’ve got a real problem,” her voice shakily said. “It’s got me really freaked.”  
“Gah. Don’t tell me. I can see it now. So obvious. Draco uses more hair products than you? I knew that bugger was doing more than just styling.”  
Hermione awkwardly giggled. “No. Well, yes. He certainly does. But that’s not the problem.”  
The witch adjusted her hair, throwing the straight red locks back over her shoulder. She then shrugged. The casual manner made Hermione more nervous. It was a bombshell. Maybe she shouldn’t say it. The news was better left unsaid.   
Ginny was her best friend. A girl best friend. They shared everything.   
“Now you’re making me nervous,” Ginny said after a complete minute of Hermione’s under breath stammering. “Is something wrong?”  
“Yes. Incredibly so.”  
“It’s not Harry, is it? Or Ron?”  
Hermione shook her head. “Neither.”  
“Well, who else causes you to act this way if it’s not Harry or my idiot brother? Hm, I’m going to have to guess Malfoy.” She smirked. “What’s the wanker done now?”  
“It’s not him,” she revealed softly. “It’s me.”  
A lump in her throat made it harder to breathe. Salvia pooled in the corners of her mouth.   
The cool wind blew through. Fresh pine rode the air as a lovely incense throughout the countryside. It burned to breathe such cold air through the nose.   
Two puffy clouds of white breath intertwined as neither said a word.   
It was difficult to phrase, the news she wanted to recount. It would be more difficult to explain to her friends. The impossibility of it made all of it more unreal. Her own emotions shined with a truth she wanted to be a falsehood.   
Brown eyes fell to the aged brown bridge. The small cracks showed the heights beneath their feet.  
“I think…I think I’m in love with Draco Malfoy.”  
Time ceased to move. Ginny remained motionless, frozen in time.  
Finally, Ginny blinked. “Are you serious?”  
She bobbed her head with a pitiful look. “I don’t know what to do. I literally just found out.”  
“You make it sound like somebody told you. How do you ‘just find out’ you’re in love with someone? Shouldn’t you know right away?”  
“That’s what I thought. Honestly. But just as I sat there and thought about how much I should be in love with Ron, but those feelings are ones I feel for Draco and how messed up that was. Then it just hit me.” She pointed at the center of her chest. “I love Draco. I can’t explain it, but I am connected to him. We’re something.”  
Her friend went wide eyed. She rubbed her temples furiously. “What are you going to do? He can’t even admit his feelings for you. Merlin, he acted like a total wanker when he thought you and Ron were dating. I thought that might have done him in.”  
“I think it did,” Hermione breathed softly. “He’s starting to… soften. He’s like super protective now. Not just from other guys talking to me, but about everything. When we kiss, he’s super giving and tender.”  
Devilish delight changed Ginny’s face in an instant. Her lips stretched in a toothy grin. A small wrinkle topped her freckle covered nose. She extended a single finger.  
“You said kiss. You kissed Draco.” The glee made her clap her hands together. “How was it? Tell me everything. Did he use tongue? Where were his hands: face or waist?”  
“Well the first time he - .”  
Ginny gasped. “Excuse me? _First time._ You’ve kissed before and haven’t told me?”  
“I’m sorry, Gin. I have not known how to feel about it being known. I mean, imagine what will happen in Harry and Ron finds out.”  
The mention of the boys sobered their joy. It was a somber thought that their archnemesis is the exact one to whom Hermione’s heart belonged. The DA was complicated enough with being friends with him. There was distrust. She saw it.   
Harry and Ronald made it clear that distrust against Hermione was distrust against them. Those were her best friends. Even if they hated Malfoy and complained endlessly about it, they were the first to defend her name.  
It was like Ginny shared the same thought. They beheld each other in delicate gaze. Ginny looked on woefully. She wrapped her up in a tight hug.  
“I’m sorry. I really am.”  
A soft sniffle came to Hermione’s eye. “It’s not fair.”  
“I know.” Ginny petted her hair in gentle motions. The wind made her curls a tangled mess twice their normal size. “Love is not all it’s supposed to be.”  
Wasn’t that the truth. It was nothing like advertised. Love was natural. It was breathing air. The pumping of blood filled with another’s essence. Their touch a joyous rapture of completeness.  
Hermione leaned into the embrace. “I’m going to save him.”  
The muscles in Ginny’s body went rigid. “What are you talking about?”  
“He’s protecting me from something. I know it in my bones,” Hermione stated firmly. “And I’m going to protect him.”  
Ginny was too flabbergasted to know what to say. She retracted from their hug with uncertainty etched in her beautiful warm features.  
There were many things that Hermione kept from Ginny out of need. Draco’s intentions were one. She hadn’t the proof to substantiate any of them. It was her stomach. Her intestines. Her gut.   
It knew that whatever Draco risked, she’d risk it too.


	16. Chapter 16

### CHAPTER 16

#### Late December Flurries

Hogwarts castle was decorated for the upcoming holiday. Red holly berries hanged from their strips of greenery, lined every door and arch way. Garlands of every house color lined columns throughout the school. Glittery evergreens dressed in their holiday best boasted in alcoves and classrooms for a dash of Christmas cheer.   
Frost of early morning windows swirled in patterns of snowflakes. It greeted each student. Their splintered decorations of ice melted away with the rising of the daily sun, but was charmed, each morning, to grow icy fingers into wintery scenes for their enjoyment.  
The Great Hall was the best decorated of all the castle. Icy blue and white trees almost touched the ceiling. Little candles scattered throughout their limbs flickered soft yellow light. Ornaments glistened. Enchanted reindeer grazed upon the needles of the tree and fidgeted their red noses.   
Center of the archway into the hall was the largest bloom of mistletoe. It dangled like a teasing reminder for all who entered were expected to kiss. The source of the plant was mysterious. It was removed by staff multiple times a day but grew back with ease. The stunt reeked of a Weasley twin production. Hermione Granger eyed their two snickering mouths as they entered the sparse hall during a free period. Under their arms were books that had been seldom cracked that year. She smelled mischief.  
Hermione sat just below a beautiful chandelier coated in shimmery tinsel. Bits of the decoration fell atop her assignments and coated them in whatever it was that made tinsel impossible to remove. Her ink was filled with the small golden debris.   
It was supposed to bring her a bit of Christmas cheer, but it defeated her holiday spirit with it’s constant downpour of frustration. When nobody was looking, she zapped a charm to keep the tinsel from falling on the table. Ink was one thing. The last thing she wanted for a meal was a coating of gold tinsel stuck in her teeth.  
Harry and Ron had homework to do. They were hunkered down in the library trying to learn what they should have in class. She opted to take the Great Hall, so they found the answers on their own. It was not fair to carry their course load for them.   
Luna and Neville and Ginny had plans, too.   
It left a surprising amount of alone time. Quidditch practice was lengthy; Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were bound to be gone for another hour. That left a chance to reply to Viktor’s letter.  
It was filled with seasons greetings and his favorite things about the holidays. She smiled as he spoke of hot chocolate with a Russian vodka tossed in. He wrote his regards to Harry and Ron. His words were kind and genuine. In their time together, she’d never known him to be distrustful in any way.   
Viktor Krum was a wonderful wizard. She wished the previous year had went better. It ended with Cedric’s horrible death, a thought that plagued her. Things were difficult those last days. He was thoughtful to respect her choice whether she wanted to write him by giving her his address.   
She grabbed a fresh piece of parchment and wrote of her most favorite holidays past. A smile found her face as she expressed her love of hot cocoa during cold winter days just as he did. She answered his questions, though not as personally as she used to. Draco still read through her letters before they were sent. Though it was possible to send them in secret when he was at practice, he would not miss the fact that she always replied to letters.   
Trust was required for any sort of freedom. Draco watched over her more closely when he was suspicious.   
Viktor had turned to a dear friend within their letters. He knew many things about her that were easily forgotten by her other friends. The thoughtfulness into every moment he experienced, Viktor remembered everything. He loved to hear what book she’d read and how she liked them.   
When was the last time Ronald asked about a book that wasn’t a textbook?  
Despite what was spread at the tournament, Viktor was an intelligent person. He wore it gently. Part of that was the fact he was a professional athlete. There was a façade he exuded when he became ‘Viktor Krum, best Seeker in the world’ that was truly different than the man underneath. He was neither aggressive or rash. Strong. Strong he was. But the others aspects about his personality that she believed to be truth were nothing but presumption.   
Hermione had just signed her name with a simple flourish when Draco strode through the long aisle toward her table. His hair was wet from a recent shower. Practice got him all sweaty, an idea she enjoyed in secret. They shared a brief moment of eye contact as he sat across from her.  
Ah, yes. Leather and oil. The way he smelled after Quidditch.  
“Told you it was cold up there,” he started.   
“I know,” she replied softly. “I just wasn’t ready to leave.”  
His eyes flickered toward her lips before they rested at the things in front of her. The swell of his Adam’s apple rose slightly.  
The result of their snog session was not forgotten with her either. Her knickers were filled with her luscious cream that mortifyingly aroused her. Draco had done that to her. He took a virginity that she would never have again. It left a need for more. She craved more.  
She was easily more excited by the stray of his eye to swell of her chest or the parting of her lips.  
His throat cleared abruptly. “Ah. Correspondence.”   
Godric, she needed to control herself. She pulled her thighs tight together to tamper the growing urge to part her legs for him.   
“That’s right,” she replied in a forced tone of indifference.  
“To anyone in particular?”  
The question was rhetorical. He knew whom was to receive its contents. A charade he proceeded to enact each time she handed him an envelope.  
Her eyes rolled as she handed it over. “As if you have to ask. You have read them all. You should know by now how boring they are.”  
“I never said they bored me.” He unrolled the letter of the parchment. His eyes scanned through the rows of sentences with hunger. “They’re a fascinating study. I’ve deduced much about you from these letters.”  
“Really?” She hummed in response. “Show me one of those letters to your mother so I might learn a little something about you.”  
He looked at her curiously. The letter captured more of his attention than her statement. Still, both worked him over fast.  
The letter was sent down rather harshly. Or rather, it was snapped down with he flick of his wrist.   
“I can’t help but notice many mentions of Weasel holidays in this letter,” he stated. “Just how much time do you spend over there?”  
She thought a moment and replied, “A fair bit.”  
“Not this Christmas I should hope.”  
Oops. She had not thought about that. It would break her promise of ‘no alone time’ with Ron.   
The quiet thinking was too long to ease Draco’s anxiety. His glare turned pointed.  
“Pet.” Draco’s tone was put under great control. The sound lower than the quiet of the Great Hall. “Not this one, correct?”  
“No. Not this one.” It was not what she wanted to say. In that moment when his possessive control showed through, she wanted to tell him news he didn’t want to hear. What did that mean?   
He eased back in his seat, appeased. It was a dangerous topic to mention, Ron. He hardly got that angry when she mentioned Harry. Something about Ronald Weasley and her made Draco irate and irrational, hardly traits of his Slytherin house.   
Hermione gazed at him through her content. She was glad that she felt that way about him again. It was easier to breathe with him around.   
Something about Draco Malfoy made things feel right.  
“Mum and Dad are taking me to France on holiday,” she explained. “We like to ski.”  
He snorted. “Oh aye. I’d like to see that.”  
“I’m a very talented skier I’ll have you know.”  
It was clear from the derisive snort and doubtful gaze that he was not satisfied with her statement of her prowess on the slopes. To his credit, he did not bicker. That she would not have stood for. Perhaps, he knew how much she’d fight him on it.  
Draco tapped the letter. “You wouldn’t be planning a meet up with Mister Krum, would you?”  
There it was. That thing she hated about him. Her nose turned red hot when she pulled the letter away.  
“Is that all you think of me, Draco? A slag who shags her way through wizards?” She took great care to fold the letter carefully. It was tucked to safety within her satchel. “Don’t you know any better?” She added softly.  
Her eyes were rested at the schoolwork ahead of her. She should finish it. The unsettled disappointment in her belly said otherwise. It wanted comfort in the form of hot tea and chocolate. Or hot cocoa, seeing as it was that time of year.   
She counted days on her fingers, suddenly remembering that she was expected to start a menstrual cycle soon. The sudden panic made her concerned about lateness but as she counted through the days in her head, she was right on track.  
Her heart calmed in her chest. Godric, that was the last thing she needed to worry about. Especially since they hadn’t actually shagged. It just felt like it. That guilty pleasure of their bodies pressed together, the pleasure mounting inside her body until she couldn’t hold it any longer. The sheer ecstasy that would come from his cock.   
Oh. Her own thoughts were just as uncontrollable as her body. Her mind made mental note of ‘birth control’. It was just about time to start it.  
Draco reached across the table to tap his fingers against her wrist. “I do. It’s just those other ones I don’t trust.”  
“Ron’s been my friend for years. Not once has he made a move. You can trust that.”  
“The same Weasel who cursed himself with mouthfuls of slugs and made you cry after the Yule Ball because he was so jealous you had anyone else who might like you?” Draco remarked. “That’s the one I should trust with my pet?”  
The Great Hall started to buzz with noise. Many more had filtered in for their free time. It was not expected to be quiet for assignments, so they could be as loud as they wanted.   
Benches of nearby tables were fuller. A large crowd of Gryffindors were at the table behind her locked in a wizard’s chest tournament that had them howling with each lost piece. Some colorful expressions resulted in scowls of displeasure from Madame Hooch. Her amber eyes sharply curbed their excited hoots to settled voices.  
“How did you know about that?” She was thrust in a memory of sobbing in the Gryffindor Tower in a ruffled dress, the prettiest she felt in her life. That night was a mixed memory since Viktor made it wonderful while Ronald made it upsetting.  
She exhaled in control. Her eyes focused on her surroundings.  
A few Slytherins had filtered in at the conclusion of their practice. Terry Higgs was there. She recognized the earring and knotted top bun. His back was to her. Other Slytherin boys sat near. They were older since she did not recognize any of them.  
Then she came. Pansy’s short bob glided up to Higgs.   
That was the other witch of Draco’s life. The bitch witch. Godric, how much Hermione hated that entitled sneer. Everything about Pansy Parkinson made Hermione sick. With anger and pure resentment.  
The witch kissed Draco first. He’d probably shagged her, too.   
It was an insult to human nature that a girl as Pansy Parkinson, shallow and over the top, and one as Hermione Granger, rational and mature, were to share the same man in their lives. Hell, it was an insult to Hermione!   
The witch did not own Draco. She was not his future wife. There was nothing of temptation within that bulldog face and pathetic whine. Draco had everything he would ever need right in Hermione.   
“Everyone heard about it,” Draco stated. He must have noticed her halted gaze because he overlooked his shoulder where Pansy and Higgs were a few tables away. He turned back with a scowl. “Fantasizing?”  
“Yeah. About strangling the bitch.”  
The tip of his quill pierced his parchment. His eyes raised in alarm.  
“I beg your pardon.”  
Hermione ripped her gaze away from the stupid witch whose flowing, pig-squeal of a voice fluttered to their ears.   
“Nothing,” she said bitterly. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. She could not say it…“Just says something about your taste in witches.”  
His pale brows raised. “Something you have to say, Granger?”  
She sighed and forced a smile. “None.”   
But when he turned back down to his schoolwork, she couldn’t resist the urge to add, “A wizard must be hard pressed for a shag to willingly be friends with the likes of her.”  
The quill dropped from Draco’s hand. The thin of his lips sloped to a frown.  
“You’ll do well to remember just to whom you speak, pet.”  
Pet.   
“Pet,” she repeated bitterly. It’s taste no longer felt delicious against her tongue. “A recycled nickname from lovers past? You better not have called her that.”  
Rather than becoming angry, which she expected and anticipated, Draco looked at her with an all new gaze. His eyes were soft yet fully illuminated as they beheld every inch of her face. His lips rested peacefully in line, not stretched or curled.   
She was bewitched with his beauty in those moments when the shield dropped away. The crinkle in the corner of his eye, the expressive way his eyebrows moved within his forehead, how his fingers caressed things beneath them. He looked so genuine. At ease.   
His fingers grazed against the back of her hand.  
“Come on.” His neck gestured toward the door. “Let’s get some fresh air.”  
“Didn’t you already get some? You just came in from outside.”  
He rolled his eyes. “Well. Now I want some more.”  
They packed up their things. Hermione was curious as to what Draco planned. Was it a snog session? Did he want to privately correct her for insulting his ex-girlfriend?  
Her blood turned hot. Let him try to defend Pansy Parkinson. Oh, Merlin. Just let him try.  
Draco led them out the courtyard, across the Wooden Bridge and down to the edge of the Haunted Wood. She followed him without question as a good pet did. Her mind was full of questions, but none escaped her lips as he scanned the grounds around them. Not a soul was around. He ensured there was no one to see before he grabbed her hand and pulled her deep into the depths of the trees. She remained silent, just as he did.  
They stepped through brambles upon brambles. An entire thicket of them. He only paused to rid his clothes of their thorns before he continued forward, hand still holding onto hers.   
After what felt like a twenty-minute hike, they reached a clearing with nothing but a dirt floor and dense canopy above. Not a shred of sunlight filtered through the leaves. He waved his wand and their footprints in the soft Earth disappeared. A ward, of both silencing and invisibility, domed overtop the clearing.   
Hermione stood there, baffled. “What?”  
They were in the middle of nowhere. Nothing of importance was there.  
“Now we’re alone,” he said. “No one can hear us. No one can see us.”  
Tension caught at the back of her throat. It was so threatening to be in the woods alone where no one might witness her murder. So, why did her body rush with literal excitement?  
“Oh,” was all that managed to sound.  
A fan. She needed a fan! Why was she hot? The waistline of her trousers cinched tight to her flesh.   
He was slow in his approach. Each step drafted in deliberate hesitation. That was enough to make her insides quiver with excitement. Her pulse sped. She thought of her smell. Something about her smell made her nervous. Why couldn’t she just have a single moment to freshen up? Ensure things were…presentable.  
“You do know why you are called my pet, don’t you?” He inquired.   
Salvia pooled in her cheeks. “So I remember my place under you.”  
That was difficult to say.  
But then, it wasn’t. Her body moved in response to the statement. It aroused her own ears to hear the submission to him. For he was the one with domain over her, so why didn’t he take advantage of it already?  
Draco smirked. He was close. They were half an arm’s length away, hot tense air between them. Pale fingers reached out from the strength of his hand and split into the waves of her hair. Sensations tingled her scalp. Her eyes shuttered close a second to relish its pleasure.  
More. She burned with need. More.  
“It’s because you are owned by me. My name. Draco Malfoy upon your body. And I call you pet for all to know just who you are bound to,” he answered in a gentle tone. “A pet is played with gentle hands for fear of the master.”  
Heat filled her body. The small of her back arched forward toward him. The strands of her knickers withheld her excitement from his eye, but she guessed he knew it was there. He wore the name, “Slytherin Sex God” with more pride than his Prefect badge.  
Her breath jilted when his own hips met hers. “And why is it that you play with me at all? There are plenty of _better _witches ready to take my place.”  
“None would fill the position quite the way you do,” he murmured as his lips grazed the dip of her collarbone. She gasped. “Of that, I am convinced.”  
Plenty things filled Hermione’s mind. Hormones surged in need of release. She wanted to appease their needs because they felt so bloody good, but there were other things at work within her mind.   
As much as it literally pained her body, she focused on her own plots.  
“But this isn’t what you planned. Not at first.” She gasped when his hand brushed against her nipple. Her lips trembled with vocal need. The dripping in her knickers turned to a steady gush. She fought through heavy breaths. “You. Had. Other. Plans.”  
His hand rolled her nipple just enough to have her moan aloud. Her hands needed to touch him.  
She grasped his shoulder if not to steady herself as she was overcome with pleasure.   
“Their plot would not surprise you,” he said. His tongue explored up her neck. It’s sticky sweet trail brought forth gooseflesh. She trembled when he closed it in a kiss just below her jawline. “Agony. Humiliation. All been done before.”  
“And now?”  
Her eyes fluttered up to his with as much love she could summon. Her heart pounded. Body, screamed. She needed him.   
His hands pushed her against a tree. The bark dug into her spine with jutted edges. She didn’t think to wince. The pressure against her overwhelmed her thoughts. His body against hers pinned her there in his embrace. The soft swell in his pants thrust against her eager clit.   
“Now, I find your agony to rather displeasing.”  
A chill traversed her spine. His lips upturned to a smirk as she shuddered against him. Something about it pleased him.  
“Then stop causing it,” she mumbled. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of lust and strategy. She had to focus. Focus on something other than the wicked delight. Her voice found some strength as she pictured Voldemort. “Don’t be that wizard.”  
He sighed. Their connection stopped. “It is not that simple.”  
The mood changed just as fast as it started. Lust and filthy desires subsided below her flesh to their molten home, ready to burst at another time.   
Cool air greeted the places where his body once was pressed up against hers. His retreat burned her loins with struggle. The silent trek of his feet against dirt filtered in through the calm of the forest floor.  
Draco blended with the shadows of the wood as he walked. In and out. There and gone. Her eyes fought against the dark to keep stride with his movements. Silent, and ever so close. She knew he was still there.   
She lost him within the swallowing black. Her lungs exhaled a soft gasp.  
“You can’t even face me when you say it?”   
Her voice carried throughout the trees. She was not sure where he landed, but it would reach his ears.   
Suddenly a body was behind her. Arms snaked around her waist. A cheek pressed against hers as his face rested alongside her own.  
Then soft as a whisper, he said the words she longed to hear. “Now that I have you, I cannot let you go. There will be nothing to stop me from it. As long as I breathe, you’ll be my pet. Nobody elses.” He cinched his hold tighter. Her back rested at his beltline where, again, she felt a distinct rigidness against her. Instead of her cheeks, the flesh of her breasts flushed red hot and sensitive. “I’ll end Potter myself if that’s what it takes.”  
Her heart dropped to her knees. Not Harry. Not the light. She could not belong to the dark.  
“But,” he said, “if you turn him in, it will save us both a load of agony.”  
Hermione struggled against his hold. His arms were strongly latched together. She finally was forced to send an elbow in between the soft spots of his ribs to be released of their grip.  
She faced him with a mouthful of fury and the face to match. “Are you mental? Why are you so intent on destroying Harry? Don’t you see how important he is to me? To the world?”  
It was a swift recovery from his injury. He was standing tall in a moment, ready to spit venom of his own soon after. “That fool compromises your safety for his own pleasure. The longer you are associated, the higher risk to you. I cannot have it. I’ll not have another wizard be the reason you are hurt.”  
The shadow of the canopy left little warm found on the forest floor. Hermione shivered within her jumper and cloak. An eerie silence filtered in through the trees.  
The birds no longer chirped. Faraway skittering and burrowing and shuffling stopped.  
An entire wood listened close. Ears perked, ready for absorption.   
“But it is _me_ who made the choice, Draco. Me. I’m the one risking it. And I’m happy about it. Thrilled, even. It’s made me the most confident since I came here.” Hermione wished she could explain just how important it was. She wanted him to understand. “I’m helping myself learn.”  
“You’re in a school, Hermione. Wake up. That’s what a school is for. You don’t need Potty for that.”  
Frustration started to set. Her eyes were filled with angry tears.  
“Not with Umbridge here it doesn’t! We’re not learning a thing.”  
Draco roared out his frustration. “That’s one class! It’s not worth being expelled over.”  
She gave a pitiful look. After everything, all the information he learned in the stead of Death Eaters, he had to know what she was up against and just how unprepared she was for it.  
“We both know I won’t last without it.” Her voice was gentle. It was filled with heartbreak as the reality of her fate was forced into her mind. “My name is on that list. You know the one. Voldemort’s list of prisoners. He won’t just kill me, Draco. He needs me. Alive. And whatever dark purpose he intends, I’ll not survive.”  
The gears moved extra smooth in Draco’s mind. It was a beautiful quality. He arrived at the truth. She knew when he did because his fists turned white in their fury. The wrinkles of his forehead were deep set.   
“We’ll handle that later.” It was so easy for him to dismiss it.  
This was her life! She stared at him, eyes filled with tears of horror and anger. If being his pet meant so damn much, why did Voldemort’s plans mean a thing to him? Was that the point all along?  
He tried to close the gap between them. Her feet skipped back farther away.  
“Don’t,” she said. Her voice caught in her throat.   
“He has you fighting each other,” Draco sputtered. “And you don’t see anything wrong with that?”  
Her lips were brittle and dry. She licked their length to little respite. There were rips in her favorite jumper from the brambles, mud on her shoes, bleeding cracked lips from when she turned herself to an ice lolly and none of it compared to the mental havoc she was under.  
Her heart pulled her in so many directions. One where she was with Draco as his beloved pet. The other on the side with all her friends. Both their loves made her a better person. It taught her loyalty when things got tough. She was taught to never turn away from a challenge.  
Harry himself taught her that. Every year it was something horrifying that changed her life. He was always the culprit. The friendship she had with him put her at risk. But she never questioned it.  
Now that she loved Draco, she was on the dangerous void of crossing.   
“You know what you do to me, don’t you?” She mumbled. “You know how to make me second guess everything. “  
“Malfoy charms, pet. You’ve warmed.”  
Yes, she’d been enchanted by him. The awe of his complexity abandoned all logic.  
“A little bit too much, I’m afraid,” she spat.  
It was an outburst that was not truly meant to come out. There was no intention of it ever being said. Her hands clamped over her mouth.  
Draco stared rather like he’d seen Voldemort himself. “Tell me you’re kidding.”  
Oh yes. Because her humor believed it funny to tell someone they loved them when her entire life would crumble around the fact.   
She shook her head. A few tears spilled down her fingers as she saw him moved to fury. His hands ripped through his hair as if overcame with the urge to scream and cry.   
It was the last thing she wanted to see when she told him. His hatred of it.  
Draco recovered from his anger. Though his hands trembled, in assumed rage, he leveled his mood to calm. His eyes met hers. They were guarded. They withheld their emotion from her.  
“Hermione,” he breathed. “You can’t. You can’t love me.”  
Her head dropped to her hands. “I didn’t choose it. It just happened.”  
“Make it un-happen then!”  
“I can’t, you prat!” She cried. “It isn’t like I can just stow my emotions away somewhere and not feel them. I don’t get that choice. They’re there. I have to feel them. For you.”  
Draco equaled his voice to hers. Though it seemed to echo through the trees longer.  
“How could you be so stupid to let that happen?”  
Her lungs could not hold enough air for how large she needed to scoff long enough to reiterate her utter disbelief. “Me? You’re blaming me?”  
“The brightest witch in the world is so easily swayed by a bit of attention that she falls in love with the first wizard who gives her some,” Draco sneered. “I can’t believe I thought you’d have the slightest shred of restraint. Salazar. What was I thinking? A Gryffindor is as rash as they are stupid.”  
There was a split second in between when she felt her anger and when her magic coursed her veins that she realized just how powerful her emotions were. She’d suffered the mental agony of his games for months. An entire term of his hot and cold, the changing tides of his moods! His aggression against all her friends just because they had the gall to be in her life in ways he couldn’t.  
None of it was her doing. It was his choice.  
And now she was bound to him in alliance and emotion. This entire thing was his fault!   
She felt the surge of rage fill up her lungs. The strong deepening breath as she inhaled through her nose. Zaps of magic sparked from beneath of her fingertips as she bathed in the summoning wave of magic with its growing shadow. Her eyes clouded white. Power erupted from the soles of her feet; the ground vibrated beneath her step.  
Draco looked around the ground in confusion. His panic was not enough to appease it.  
Her wandless magic attacked the source of her pain: Draco. It pulled roots from below the ground. Their sharp edges cracked the crust of the soil, a field of needles between them. Wood snapped. The creak of moving wood splintered throughout the open air as the ground moved with roots as snakes below the surface. They wiggled. Their bodies were seen through the ground only to suddenly burst from the crust with a jagged edge.  
Draco hopped in surprise them he was lifted off their ground by two large roots. They hovered a moment.   
One thick root was underneath his feet. Two flanked around. They moved closer and closer to him. The steady ground was running out below his feet.   
He grabbed hold of his wand. It extended forward, a threat.   
A root swiped his wand out of his hand, narrowly missing his body. Draco had jumped back at the last minute. His eyes watched the fall of his wand get lost amongst the spikes below.  
Hermione felt his fear. She shared it.   
“Stop!” She screamed, clutching her mind. “No, no. Please, no.”   
She grabbed her wand and fired a few offensive spells. None worked. Their bodies were tough with layers of bark. Her lips ripped open from her chewing.   
“Reducto!” She cried.  
It was impenetrable. It would take too long to break through one of them before Draco was forced off their edge.  
Draco’s breaths echoed through the ward. His panic coursed through her flesh. It rippled throughout the tissues. Her magic was going to kill him.  
Tears fell down her cheeks. It was her own doing that would kill the wizard. She still loved him, even after his hurtful words. He did not deserve to die!  
“Control your emotions,” he shouted from above. He teetered on the edge. One last step left before a deadly plunge.  
“I can’t!” She cried. The tears almost blinded her.   
“Listen to me, pet. Calm down.”  
Hermione inhaled. Her eyes closed. She fought the frantic trembling of her hands and dug them deep in the loosened dirt.   
Happy. She wanted happy.   
She was back at The Burrow. Molly held a tray of fresh homemade puddings. Ron eyed them with wide eyes of constant hunger. Harry was there, Ginny by his side. They were cuddled against each other. A roaring fire was off to her right. The heavy weight of a new, historic book perched in her lap; a piece of wrapping paper still taped to the binding.   
Then there was home. Her parents were there. An old comedy in black and white on the telly had them laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks. The bowl of popcorn forgotten at their feet. One kick of her mother’s heel tossed the snack across the room. Neither were bothered. Their laughter continued.   
A flash of platinum hair clouded her eyes. It was like Draco’s but curled at the ends. The farther down she looked, the more she saw a little face of peachy skin, two large brown eyes, and curled blonde locks atop its head. She saw her favorite green pistachio muffins with ripe strawberries on a tray. The little face snuggled against her chest as a place of comfort. Draco entered the frame, smile on his face, a loose grey silken top. He gave her a gentle kiss against her cheek. “Good morning, love.”   
Hermione fell back. She was back in the Haunted Wood. The roots were gone. The disturbed dirt was the only evidence of their uprising.   
Draco stood in the center of the clearing, bewildered and out of breath. Shock was an understatement. He was beyond processing the strength of that magic from her veins. The silver of his eyes was blown wide. He stared at her without blinking, unable to believe his mind. Without a wand, without a spell, without anything but pure emotion, Hermione moved an entire forest’s roots to save her. That was power unlike any had seen.  
His voice was small in the incredible dense thick tension of the forest. “How did you do it?”  
It was the last thing she heard. She dashed off through the wood away from him. Tears no longer burned her eyes, but she felt their sadness all the same. Her heart was clenched in a vise. It squeezed harder and harder with every single step out of his reach.  
She locked herself in Gryffindor Tower, refused to leave its safety for a meal or walk. Nothing would tempt her back out there. He was out there. He…  
Hermione slept that afternoon and the entire night. Her body was sore and tired. A headache rested directly behind her eyes. Every bright light pounded against her head. It never ceased. Her pain kept her laid up in bed unable to move until she was given no choice. Ginny led her to hospital. One hand clutched Hermione’s arm tight since standing made her vision spin.   
One night was prescribed by Madame Pomphrey. She offered Sleeping Draughts and several potions for a headache, but none touched the pain. Hermione was not cured at the end of the night. Her head screamed. She wanted to stick a wand through her ear to ease the pressure. Her eyes burned more than the surface of the sun.  
Thoughts were fire. She was unable to think too hard. Her mind grasped gently but released to the release of sleep when it overwhelmed her.  
“Oh Severus,” An old voice muttered. “The girl is in pain. I’ve given her three of your strong drafts. Nothing has helped. The poor girl can’t even open her eyes.”  
Hermione hadn’t heard them enter. She must have drifted off.   
“The pressures worse.” Hermione pushed her palms against her ears. “I feel like my eyes going to explode.”  
“Hm.”  
That was the tone of her unimpressed potions professor. Nothing ever moved him to be sympathetic toward a Gryffindor, especially her.  
His hands suddenly ran down along her forehead. They were ice cold. Her chest exhaled sharply.   
She did not like the touch of another. Since _he_ happened.  
“Madame Pomphrey!” A sudden urgent voice split the room. Voices and shuffled feet entered. The skirts of the mediwitch rustled as she walked away.  
That left Professor Snape. His presence was undetectable. The man moved as silent as a wraith.  
There was a pause in footsteps just at the edge of her cot. She heard their taps against the floor and their cease close. Snape gave a disproving snort and flicked the curtains closed.  
“Miss Granger.” His tone was low and soft. It was said with a shred of secrecy. “A headache untouched by pain potions is often the result of damage to the mind. Were you cursed?”  
“No.”  
“Did you attempt a spell you were unskilled with?”  
“No.” She swallowed. “Is it serious? The damage, I mean.”  
The professor sighed. She suspected he was lost in thought. It was not often he made sounds that were not of the frustrated type with her. His patience was minimal.  
“Time will tell,” he replied. “Seeing as you are still alive, your prospect is positive.” He then swallowed, “These are only seen in the most powerful kinds of magic. Rarely seen in a school aged child. What is it that you were doing leading up to the onset?”  
She swallowed. “I had a loss of control. Like when I was eleven.”  
“Wandless magic?” He asked.  
She shook her head. That was not the right word for it.  
“Wordless. Thoughtless. Nothing. It just happened.” Her voice sounded frail as she remembered what had almost happened. What she almost caused was traumatic. “Even when I wanted it to stop, it wouldn’t. Not a spell from my wand. Nothing worked.”  
Suddenly he was on the other side of the bed. “How did you get it to stop?”  
Merlin, she almost killed Draco! What was the matter with her?   
There was no question that their agreement was ended. He was irate about her feelings for him. She could not fathom the depths of anger he would feel toward her now that her magic nearly pierced him into thousands of tiny pieces.   
She could do it. He was safer without her. They belonged apart.   
Hermione exhaled. “Controlled my emotions…I had to calm down for it to stop.”  
“Hm. A worthy skill.”  
She scowled. The man never missed an opportunity to spite her.   
“So there’s nothing you can do to help?” She snipped.  
“I only said time will tell, not that my expertise is unable to aid.”  
The roundabout conversation frustrated her. There was little that she had patience for. His nonsense was one of them.  
She gritted her teeth. “Well what does your expertise advise?”  
The tension in her jaw eased the pressure of her head. She felt it dissipate. Her mind was not filled with blinding burning pain for the first time in hours.   
“I will return.”  
His exit was soundless. She suspected his absence seeing as that she was able to hear the commotion of the other patient rather clearly. It was made easy by the fact they were recognizable voices.  
Crabbe was the other patient of Madame Pomphrey’s. His fingers were broken. A Quidditch injury, no doubt. The twins had broken many fingers as the team beaters. Crabbe moaned and groaned as Madame Pomphrey readied to set the bones. It was a nasty business. Bone popping and cracking coupled with the groans of the patient were not easily forgotten.   
Goyle was there, too. He complained of Crabbe’s whining. It sounded entirely like Malfoy.  
The bones were set swiftly, and they were sent on their merry way. Their shuffles were out of focus for a few minutes before the curtain was flicked open once more.  
She relaxed. Time for healing. The pain would be gone soon.  
Instead four paws landed upon her shins. The little body climbed up to her chest and sat there, looking down at her. She ventured a peak out one of her eyes.  
“You found me.” She rubbed his head.   
Drogon pressed his paw against her cheek. She smiled.  
“No, it isn’t any better.”  
He sat there and waited for Professor Snape to return. It was clear that when the professor came to administer his dose, the cat was an incredible bother and was shooed away to the foot of the bed.  
Professor Snape placed a glass vial to her lips. It was a regeneration elixir that would rebuild her damaged brain tissues. He advised against strong emotions and losses of control. The effect of emotional magic was a large mystery as it mostly dissipates when the child reaches the age for a wand.   
“I don’t what it is that you’ve been experiencing, Miss Granger, but I’d advise against it at all costs. The potential for instantaneous death is substantial.”  
It took ten minutes before the elixir healed everything. The pressure left. Her eyes peaked open to a hospital cot with a white cat curled between her legs. Professor Snape checked her eyes with a light before he gave his seal of approval.  
“Here,” he said. “Dumbledore would say it is unwise to distribute cures without their need but seeing as you Miss Granger are an emotional witch, consider it a wager that the past shall repeat.”  
She frowned. The elixir was in a long neck thin bottle with handles of slender, twirled glass encompassing the spout. It was gently placed in a section of her bag that held it close until she could find someplace secure.  
Hermione was nearly gone before the professor called her back.   
Professor Snape was close. Their voices in confidence. She smelled the strange mix of potions amongst his black shroud. The white of his hands hidden in the depths of his darkness. Always black. Just like Draco.   
“Sir?”  
He leaned in close and spoke in but a whisper. “It shall be in your best interest to not reveal this to anyone. Should others learn of such power, their interest may find its way to you.”  
Her heart sputtered.   
Voldemort, he meant. The name was not spoken, but heavily implied. This was a man in the Order, on the side of good, also closely aligned with evil. Dumbledore trusted him as genuine. The warning sounded a profoundly serious statement.   
There were things that Voldemort wanted her for already. The professor knew that himself. Spies had heard that there were other plans developed in the realm of evil.  
“Trust no one,” he added. “No one.”  
“Not even the Order?” She blurted.   
“It would be unwise. Should they be cornered, what might spill from a person’s lips?” A thin brow arched. It was a challenge to deny a soul would betray her. But that was a lie. There were curses worse than death that would make a person do anything to stop the pain. Serums slipped through lips could do the same. “I trust you’re able to manufacture a lie worthy of convincing your friends?”  
Lying to Harry and Ron and Ginny? Again?   
She nodded.   
His features remained taut, convinced. “Well? Let’s hear it.”  
“Stress migraine,” she replied. “From studying to much and not drinking enough water.”  
“How were you cured?”  
It was silent in the room. Madame Pomphrey was charting the commotion of Crabbe’s broken fingers. A quill scratched against the parchment with haste as she recorded the event and the treatment. “What about Madame Pomphrey? She knows.”  
“Focus, Granger. What is the treatment for a stress headache?”  
His dark eyes were intense against her face. Was it the purpose of every Slytherin to force discomfort with such undivided focus?  
“Fluids, rest, and strong pain potions.”  
The man exhaled out his nose. He was quiet for a time, as if in thought. “I suppose it is an acceptable fabrication.”  
Hermione glanced over at the mediwitch. Her notes had to document the failure to respond to such treatment. She bit her bottom lip. The information was too dangerous for anyone to know according to Professor Snape.  
“You’re dismissed,” he said with a wave of his hand.  
“But what about – .”   
“Must you linger where you are not wanted?” He snipped. “Run along to class before I take points from Gryffindor for unrelenting annoyance.”  
He aimed his words to hurt. It did. She huffed out through the double doors with smoke billowing out of each nostril. Her mind was resolved to march back in when she heard the faintest clatter on the other side.   
She listened closely. Nothing sounded. She ventured a peak inside.   
From just the slight crack of the door, she saw Professor Snape raising his wand at Madame Pomphrey’s head. He worked with loose flowing silvery strands. Her memories! The end of his wand pulled one out. It was flicked into a solution where foam and smoke formed within the glass.   
Hermione hyperventilated into her pillow as the scene replayed in her mind. Over and over.   
She wiped her eyes from the tears that were slowly cascading down. Her fear, a visible mark. She shook from the fright.   
Professor Snape had pulled and burned the real memory from Pomphrey’s mind. The tone of her newly discovered power was set darker. His warning. It was serious enough to not have a soul know its existence.


	17. Chapter 17

### CHAPTER 17

#### Homecoming

The last few weeks of the term had her numb. She was blank. Her mind reeling and searching for explanation where there was none. Harry and Ron paid close attention in her new mood. They treated her like a piece of glass. Her time in the DA was the best part of it. She found the energy to focus on her skills then. It gave the small spark of happiness.  
Then came a depressing day. Harry and the Weasleys, gone from their beds. No one had thought to wake her. She was worried sick. The breakfast table was empty. She stared at the open seats in front of her with a hole widening in her heart.   
It was like she’d awoke in a nightmare. Not a soul to belong to in the entire school.  
McGonagall was kind enough to explain what happened. It hurt to be left behind.   
Her mind was with Harry. What happened in his dream, it sounded awful. More so, she knew her best friend would need her more than anything. Everyone else would be too worried about Arthur Weasley to realize how traumatizing it would be for Harry to have endured such a vision. It’d become a struggle for him after Cedric. He tossed and turned most nights. He was tortured by the death of Cedric and the weight of survival. Survivors guilt, they called it.   
Hermione walked the corridors of the castle with no place in mind. Her feet felt restless. Her mind hated stagnation. She wanted something else to think of other than the growing threat on her friend’s life and the agonizing heartbreak of almost killing and thus losing Draco as a part of her life.  
She, somehow, was drawn back to the dreary old clock tower to relive her sadness. This time, her jumper stayed on. Another was wrapped around her shoulders as she crossed her legs on the floor and just thought through it all.   
The frosted white tops of the Haunted Wood showed in the distance through the blistery cold. Branches overstuffed with crisp white snow dipped low. The bark was a dark slice up through the solid white. She squinted to make out the individual bodies. Most were blended together, a mass of snowy branches of evergreen trees.   
Creaks of the lonely clock tower groaned through the winter air. The cold wind shifted and bended and prodded the metal structure. Hermione listened to their pace for a while. It was a steady rhythm to anchor her mind to.   
Then, something else was joined in the noise. Shuffling. It sounded below the open air of the tower.  
Hermione ventured close to the railing edge and leaned over until only the tips of her shoes touched the floor to peer inside the pendulum space where two mounds stood, bundled beneath layers of fur and coats. They were solid black. Neither had a face since their scarves wrapped around the bottom half of their faces.  
Silver and green striped scarves. Slytherin.   
She gasped. They hadn’t followed her for weeks. Draco kept a farther distance than them, but they did not follow anymore.  
Crabbe and Goyle. What was there to gain?  
Hermione decided to cease the shivering and head back inside. Soon enough it would be time to depart to London. King’s Cross Station. She descended down the stairs, surprised that Crabbe and Goyle were absent when she reached the bottom and intended to walk back inside when the fluttering of an owl caught her attention. The call split the calm air. It dipped down suddenly, narrowly missing the snow-covered cobblestones of the courtyard and flew with a mad panic.   
She pulled out her wand and stopped the creature with a simple “Embolus” spell. It was Errol: the Weasley family owl. In his pause, he was able to regain the limited sense he had. The creature dropped down to the ground. He shook out a single wing. His long brown feathers ruffled in the gust of Scottish wind as it pushed through their rung of dense plume to hefty single feathers stretched beneath pale grey flesh.   
Her fingers wagged at the silly creature. A cat treat as his reward. He hopped up, letter all but forgotten as he gulped the treat back in his throat. It was from Ginny.  
The parchment was ripped from its envelope and read eagerly.  
_Mione, I hadn’t been given a chance to write a letter last night. We are safe at Grimmauld Place As is Harry. Dad is okay. He is in St. Mungos. Told us not to worry. Like that’s possible with a Mum like we got. Harry is not himself. He has taken to isolating in other rooms apart from us. I think he feels guilty. I’d talk to him if he’d give me more than a moment before dashing off. Ron says he’ll come round. Speaking of my brother, who is tapping at my shoulder now, he wanted me to ask again for you to come spend the holiday with us. I told him that we can handle things here. You go on and enjoy the holiday with your parents. Give them my best. Merry wishes to you. I can’t wait to see you again. Love, Gin. _  
Her heart was calmed that they were safe. She pressed the letter against her chest with a teary sigh of relief. Safe. Grimmauld Place was protected. In it’s walls, Harry was hidden and protected well. The ancient Black home, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, rested within London city limits, hidden away in plain sight where muggles and Death Eaters alike might not look. It was forgotten by family. They were most long gone.   
Sirius Black carried on his legacy, great distaste to the portraits. The former masters and mistresses of the house whispered nasty things to Hermione as she passed through their historic halls. She made sure to touch their frames as she passed. Just let them feel her muggle blood engrain into their pure wood.  
The fur of her boots turned cold as she trekked through the snow. Its hefty heaps fell from the slanted slopes of the castle. Her legs raised high and plunged through the fluffy white. A soft crunch answered each step.   
She thought of Harry. Harry, her dear frightened friend. She couldn’t imagine what he felt, but she knew how he was. The attention of being The-Boy-Who-Lived was a great weight that he never truly became comfortable with. An entire world knew his name when he just wanted to know himself. The cold stung her teeth as she frowned. Cold seeped in through the tip of her nose.  
A vision in the state of a dream that was real. It was more than coincidence. Godric, think what have might have happened to Arthur if Harry hadn’t seen what he did. One less Weasley might have lit up the world with that goofy grin and welcoming hug.   
Still, something was hidden in the depths of Harry’s scar and it was being discovered too slowly. The connection with Voldemort was strong. Harry looked through into his mind. What was to stop the wizard from peering in through Harry’s own eyes? Perhaps, control him as a pawn in his own demise?  
It was a big job for Ronald and the other Weasley’s to undertake. They had a father to be concerned for. It was not like Ron was the best with emotional support either. He liked a silent tongue as to seem more masculine in the eyes of witches when all Harry would need was a verbal guide through his own feelings. The wizard liked to think through them, talk a bit.   
He’d been pushing his feelings down all year. It was making him withdraw all the more.  
It was a task Hermione felt insecure in Ron’s supervision.  
The castle was drafty in the winter and summer months. Air pockets of frigid air always seeped in. She stomped the snow off her boots, vanished the evidence and water, and strode through the corridors, fully outfitted for a glacier hike, as the last few moments in the castle were there.  
Of course, there was a single wrong turn.  
She found it darkened. The shadows grew longer as she walked. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She stopped. Something was there. She felt it. It moved through black with ease. And it was an all too familiar feeling that her body relaxed rather than tensed.   
Her face hardened as she turned. There, in a single ray of light, stood Draco.  
Since that day in the Haunted Wood, his face blended in with the changing foreground of the castle. She couldn’t recall seeing him in that time.   
All at once, she knew why. She was attracted just as she was repelled.   
“Are you well?”  
His voice, the sound of a thousand angels hit her ears.  
Her heart throbbed in pain. His eyes were twisted, coursing over her in concern, restrained by what she believed was fear. That she deserved.  
She was a monster. She almost murdered him.   
It was lucky that he did not strike her down in full revenge. It would appease the guilt she felt along with the crushing desire for him to comfort her.   
“I am,” she answered.   
All their time together, she could not remember a time where he asked of her like that.   
It was wrong that it gave her hope. She chastised herself for the childish dreams of that hopeless romantic in her. Hadn’t that girl died already?  
No. She was alive and well. She thrived. In his presence, those hopes were all too well reminded. Hermione knew the swirl in her belly, the tingle in her thighs, that rush at her tongue that wanted his tongue against hers. It was a devious plot. Devious. She knew what she was capable of. Her magic showed just what she did to the ones she loved. Draco was almost thrown to the ground and pierced by splintered pieces of wood at the rejection of her feelings. No matter how much it hurt, she had to stay away. His safety was compromised near.  
She stepped away. “I should be going.”  
Her footsteps echoed through the empty hall. It rang in her ears. Piercing. Sharp. Screaming.   
Stay.   
“Is that what the mighty Gryffindor does when it meets a challenge?” Draco snapped. “Does it retreat back to the den to the comfort of what it knows?”  
She stopped. Her body resisted. Her mind wanted to.   
Draco was ethereal in his glow. The dark surrounded him in that corridor, yet his face, his hair, it burned bright in the shred of light there was. His sharp jawbones cut through that dismal atmosphere. The grey of his eyes ignited a fire in whatever they touched: powerful and overwhelming. Muscles of his cheeks tensed and relaxed as he stood in indecision.   
That was a wizard who once cared enough to read her mail. Unbelievable how things changed.  
“Comfort? What comfort is there to be had?” She scoffed in a rather sardonic manner.   
“Don’t ask me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as he approached. “A serpent moves in different ways. It slithers for one.”  
Hermione lifted one corner of her mouth. Again, his charm was irresistible. He wielded it as a lasso to bring her back close. There he was, a foot away from her, and she was deep in need for his comfort.   
Draco eyed her face very closely. It left her woes a text from him to discern just at wrinkle of her forehead.   
He touched a single curl beside her ear. “I miss you, pet.”  
She wanted to stomp her feet against the ground and cry. He made it so hard. Too hard.  
“We can’t do this,” she said. “I can’t.”  
It is not safe for you, Draco. Please realize it.  
“Fine, Granger. You don’t have to be a ball buster. I’m here, you know? You ought to know.”  
The exact opposite of what she was thinking.  
“What are you talking about?”  
“You’re a vengeful witch, you know that?” He sucked in his breath. Whatever it was, it took a great effort. His teeth clamped into his slim bottom lip as he regarded his next move. His knuckles were lost to the length of his hair as he ripped through his carefully styled do. She almost grew concerned for the disregard to his appearance. It was not characteristic of him. “I’m sorry. There you have it. I said I’m sorry.”  
Hermione’s jaw dropped. The literal crack of her jaw vibrated through the empty corridor.  
He growled. “You need not rub it in. I won’t repeat it.”  
Her mind reeled with joy. For what, she was uncertain. He apologized!  
Draco Malfoy knew the words ‘I’m sorry’ and what’s more: he said them to her.  
“I paid my penance, don’t you think? Three weeks of utter silence is punishment enough. Silly me, for believing you might approach me when you were ready. What can I expect from a Gryffindor? I’ve got to reclaim her every single waking moment,” Draco said. “Three weeks. You know how long I had to sit and watch Weaselbee take liberties that should earn him curses? What happens between us doesn’t mean that I’d rather have you drooled on by that numpty. Do you know how mental that’s made me?”  
“You deserved it.”  
He casted her a foul glance. The quick whip rested just behind his lips ready to strike down her defiance of him, but it was kept at bay as he weighed the options of what it meant to have a pet know the control they had.  
Draco growled a soft one at the back of his throat. “Just don’t do it again.”  
That growl rose some primal urges of her own. They dampened when she remembered just why she was angry at him in the first place.  
“Don’t call me stupid!” She retorted.  
“I was shocked. What’d you expect me to say?”   
“Oh, I don’t know. ‘Hey Hermione, I know you just admitted you love me and I care enough about you to acknowledge them even if I don’t feel them’. Or how about doting on me so that I might be more compliant rather than pissing me off so that I’ll do literally anything to spite you?”  
He looked away. “Well, sure, when you phrase it like that, it’s so easy.”  
She crossed her arms. That was not going to work. That little Slytherin deflection that got them out of almost every conversation slightly discomforting.   
If Draco wanted to continue – _Godric please let him want to continue_ – then he had to put forth effort, too. Being his pet was hard. Her friends despised it. Harry’s imagination disallowed any positive outcomes of the friendship, as she had told them it was, and grumbled about it in his foul moods. Hermione was the one who wore the weight of it. It was time that Draco did some.  
“Honestly. Do you care about me or not?” Her hands clenched onto her biceps unable to release until she knew his answer. Or rather, that he said the words she longed to hear.  
Draco sneered. “I’m here, aren’t I? Don’t push your luck, pet. I’ve said many things I’m not accustomed to saying.”  
She clicked her tongue against her teeth in distaste. Her eyes turned away from his beauty. It was too distracting.   
Her chin was pulled rather harshly up to meet his gaze just inches away from his own face. “You forget who I am. I’ve warned you. I shall not stop until I have you, pet. All to myself. Whether it suits or not. My feelings are invested in this little venture. Thanks to you, I haven’t the time to prowl around for dates since you require copious amounts of attention.” Her heart went aflutter. Did he just say that he cared for her? That’s what it sounded like. “Now that we’ve gotten all the mushy stuff out of the way, go get your things. The train will be here soon.”  
One moment she basked in the warmth of his attention, the other left wanting more as he released her.   
“Hurry, too. I don’t like to wait.”  
She bit her bottom lip. “You’ll be waiting?”  
Waiting. For her.  
“Not long,” he said. “My pet does not keep me waiting long.”  
Hermione heard those words and flew to Gryffindor Tower for her trunk. The other girls were there. Still unpacked. Romilda danced around the room as music streamed through a gramophone. She used her wand to fold the endless stream of clothes from the chest of dressers beside her bed. Her hair was dense with dark ebony curls. It was a more beautiful version of Hermione’s wiry fuzzy mess of caramel hue that made her a mop head.  
Romilda Vane was similar to Lavender and Pavarti. They spoke of cute boys. Draco was often a topic of discussion. The girls painted their toenails and gave each other piercings with a sharp needle. Nights were like sleep overs with all her other dorm mates.  
It left Hermione the odd one out. She hadn’t the need for makeup or gossiping or fashion shows. They were away at school to learn. Learn. A huge opportunity deserved their full attention.   
That was another divide that separated Hermione from almost everyone else in Hogwarts. They took for granted their magical education. A family of wizards knows what their future is because they’ve been told from an early age of the school they will attend and what it’s like. Using magic everyday is a privilege they don’t realize.   
At home, Hermione was expected to live a muggle life when she was not one. It did not bother her. Her parents were muggle and they were the two greatest people she ever knew. Still, she disliked being disabled by her upbringing at a place where she was expected to learn right in line with the others.   
What a blessing it was to have a school. When she was young, she thought her life might become a mess with her magic. She could be used as a weapon. She might hurt someone by accident. Control. There was no way to learn control without a wand.   
The wooden trunk rested at the edge of her bed, neatly packed just as she had done the night before. Her things were organized. Her books, stabilized. It was all there.   
Except one thing.   
“Come on, you. Time to go.”  
She laid the crate atop her bedspread. A plush pillow rested on the bottom. There were little toy mice inside. An enchanted water bowl would fill when it was emptied. A little charm was set to happen halfway through; a hand would reach down and scratch his ears a time or two to keep him settled. It was his first long crate ride. She was not so sure how the finicky creature would take it.  
The white cat yowled at the crate. His tail twitched.  
She sighed. “It’s just for the train ride. Hogwarts Express doesn’t allow animals to roam free. Mum and Dad will let you out in the cab.”  
He walked in with an attitude. His tail pulled the metal grate door behind him. She latched it with a sigh. Drogon was more of a drama queen that she preferred in a familiar.   
“Your attitude is not my fault,” she spoke into the cage. “I’m not the one who made the bloody rules.”  
Over her shoulder came a soft giggle. It was Romilda.  
The witch wore a brilliant white smile. She was very pretty. Her sharp eyebrows were dark and expressive on her forehead. The natural luster of her lips was ruby red, pursed together in an attractive little heart that made many wizards dazzled. Her voice was that of gentle silk as she spoke; it was never too loud nor aggressive.   
Romilda radiated her confidence in her walk. Her hips swayed. Head parallel with the floor, unbothered of what might make her crown fall off the tip of her head. She was never afraid to speak her mind. That was a Gryffindor trait. She spoke with knowledge and sureness of her own beliefs but was never condescending. A refreshing thing in a school with so many smart people convinced of their own prowess.   
Hermione smiled. “He’s a bit stubborn.”  
“You talk to him like he’s sentient.” Her voice hummed in gentle peaks and crested no higher than a mumble. The idea of her attractive manner was not lost to Hermione. She was the epitome of perfect from her attuned mind to her ample shaped body.  
“He is sentient,” Hermione answered.  
She smiled. “You know what I mean.”  
It was clear to her dorm mates that the cat understood more than other cats. Theirs were rarely able to navigate out the portrait hole, yet Drogon often roamed the halls with freedom.   
Also, he was too tidy. He moved forgotten socks from their piles on the floor to their owners delicately placed atop their pillow so they wouldn’t miss them. A small wicker basket held his toys and every night he brought them back to their basket. He dragged a knitted hat (one Hermione made for the house elves of Hogwarts) to sit in front of the hearth. All strange behaviors for a typical cat.  
“He knows more than he lets on,” Hermione said. “They all do.”  
“He’s something different. You know, the day you bought him, I thought it was Draco Malfoy.”  
Hermione wrinkled her brow. “How do you mean?”  
“Merlin, can’t you see it? We all do. The thing acts just like him,” Romilda chuckled. “It even looks like him too a bit. I told Su Li that it was the strangest thing to become friends with a wizard and just happen to get a cat that is similar. We thought for a while that it was him. We’d even called him Draco a few times to try to trick him into acknowledging his name.”  
She never saw the resemblance before. Drogon was a sweet white cat that looked out for her. He was her best friend and familiar.   
However, the more she thought about it, the more she understood what Romilda meant. Drogon was proper and moody, standoffish with people and often attached at Hermione’s side. She checked inside the cage at the little creature. He sat, tailed wrapped around his body with a straight back. The brilliant blue of his eyes watched her just as closely as she watched him.   
It was obvious now that it was a train of thought that the cat was the essence of Draco Malfoy. Their behavior mirrored the others. It made her question her bond with the animal. If it was so much like Draco, why didn’t Draco love her back but the cat did?  
She puzzled on it as she descended the staircase down the bubbling excitement of the corridors, the last chance to connect before term end, and out the gates. A tower was formed of the student’s trunks. They were deposited with the caretaker, Mr. Filch, so they would be loaded onto the train. Another space with fluttering wings and soft meows was the deposit for their pets. Drogon was added to the pile.  
Her lips gave him one last smile before the ride. “See you in London. Be good.”  
The cat gave a high-pitched whine. She shook her head. “I can’t take you with me. It’s against the rules, you know.”  
Drogon was not happy to be left. He glared as she walked away. His animated tail twitched with his anger.   
From Merlin’s Gate there was a worn path down to the platform where a black and red train engine waited. Steam rose from its stack. The students were stretched amongst the grounds down to the place that would take them back to their families leaving the castle and its problems behind.  
It was different for Hermione. She was driven right to the heart of her problems on the train. London. It was home. It was her parents. It was the muggle life that she grew up in. Hogwarts was the special place that she cherished like a beloved grandparent’s house. She yearned for it in times of discomfort and depression. It was a part of her heart she loved. The place she became who she was meant to be.  
Merlin knew that life outside the wards was not safe for her. There were plots afoot. Ones that plagued her thoughts with paranoia. She disguised her parents in public so they would not be recognized. Their ride home was longer with the detours and repelling spells. She clouded her family home with charms and spells and wards. Everything she could think of.  
Something changed in the world. She’d felt it at the TriWizard Tournament. An awakening.   
Ripples vibrated the air she walked. Her presence was strong and unyielding. People knew her power without seeing for themselves just what she was capable of. Somehow, they knew. They felt it.   
Dumbledore’s Army was the formed around the idea that she would learn to protect herself from the coming onslaught of invading forces willing to rip her away from her friends for dark missions. It was the idea that she might be alone in the shadows with venomous beasts that brought the determination to learn Harry’s skill. His natural ability to survive.  
She studied his motions. How he moved with a wand, where his eyes went, how rigid or relaxed his knees were. It was a lesson every meeting that she never forgot. Her motions mimicked his. Her arms, her eyes, the slight tilt of the head. Harry turned her to a capable predator.   
“Happy Christmas, Hermione.” It was Neville. She waved.  
“See you next year,” Seamus joked.   
The sea of red scarves filtered through a doorway onto the perceived Gryffindor vestibule. There was another for yellow, blue and finally green on the end. Hermione stepped in way of the green railcar as it was the point of Draco’s statement that they ride together.   
His notable blonde hair was nowhere to be seen through the sea. His black suit and platinum hair were absent.   
Hermione slowed. It was awkward to be there without Draco. She felt a stranger through their ranks, deeply knit and widely disgusted at muggleborns.   
A thought of turning away crossed her mind. Not even Crabbe or Goyle were there to be a safety net. Where the bloody hell was he? He made a point for her to rush if he was going to take his sweet time?  
It was the typical Malfoy behavior. She groaned.  
“Hermione! Hey! Over here.” A blonde witch with glasses waved her down toward the end of the train. “Ride with me.”  
She nibbled on the end of her finger. “Sorry, Daphne. I’m supposed to wait for Draco.”  
“I believe it is first come first serve,” she said with a grin. “If he wants you, he can come and look. I’ll not curse him.”  
It was easier than searching the entire train for him. Hermione shrugged and hopped on.  
Hermione and her friends preferred the private cars rather than the open cars. Slytherins rode in some private cars but their biggest hang out was the end car that was an open array of seats and benches and tables where a few played chess.   
Daphne wove through the crowd. Her hips wiggled through a tight archway where two wizards blocked the flow with their conversation. She dipped her eyes low and whispered, “Excuse me.”  
They did not acknowledge the Gryffindor in their carriage or the fact that she was muggleborn. They moved aside and continued their talk.  
In the corner was a wrapped bench of brown leather cushions, a small table centered, then another bench across. Daphne slid all the way inside. Hermione followed.   
“It’s so calm,” Hermione commented offhand. “Godric, if it were Gryffindor…”  
“Just you wait,” Daphne said. “It can turn in an instant.”  
The chess games were quiet. They both stared in total concentration of the board in front of them.  
Blaise Zabini caught her eye across the train car. He was alone. A single book rested in his hand. _Arthurian Legends: What’s Fact and What’s Fiction._ His eyes gave no hint to what resided beneath them. The passive nature of his face remained the same as they stared at one another.   
“Ello Theo.” Daphne wiggled in her seat. “Meet our new mate. Hermione We’ve stolen her from Draco’s clutches.”  
“Draco, you say?” The slender wizard adjusted his tie with unease. “He’ll be back for her soon enough.”  
Hermione broke away from Blaise’s gaze to greet Theo. “I’d doubt the first place he’d look would be here.”  
Daphne snorted a chuckle. It was cute. The soft sound of a pig as it snorted in pleasure. It made Hermione smile, even if Daphne blushed behind her hand. “If he knew any better, it’d be the first place he’d look. You know, not many of us get to have friends with other houses thanks to him.”  
“Don’t forget Parkinson,” Theo added.  
“Who could ever forget Pansy?” The witch mocked. “You know who she is writing now? Adriano.”  
Theo’s brown brows leapt to the edge of his face. “The one - .”  
“The very one.”  
Hermione listened to Daphne’s tale of meeting her one true love at a party of Blaise’s where his cousin from Italy appeared. They were both entranced by the end of the night and agreed to write one another. It was kept rather quiet just how intimate it was, but by the fury Daphne felt, it was presumed rather serious.   
“After I told her that seducing Draco was a bad idea, she got Adriano’s address and has started getting chummy.”  
That statement hit Hermione’s ear with a sharp ringing. Pansy wanted Draco back enough to seduce him? Had something happened between them?  
“Sorry?” She interjected. “Pansy seduced Draco, you said.”  
“_Tried._” Theo made a point to emphasize the word. “There was no success.”  
“Good riddance. You ask me, Draco is better off.”  
Theo tapped his fingers around the edge of the table. He moved them faster than the eye could see. His fingers were a blur. It was a great distraction to the story.  
She removed her arms from the vibrating surface to focus on Daphne.  
“But why? Isn’t she the one who broke up with him?” Hermione asked. “Why would she want someone back after that?”  
The train signaled its readiness with a long blow of the whistle. It lurched. The motion of the train set her belly on fire. She wondered if she’d made the right choice in the Slytherin carriage.   
There was a long-guarded glance from Theo to Daphne, as if their eyes argued without words. She watched them communicate in a series of eye motions and faces before Theo looked down at his fingers in defeat.  
“It’s you that’s got her all bothered,” Daphne revealed under her breath. Her eyes shifted about the car in search of a betrayer of their whispers or perhaps the source of their gossip herself. “She suspects that this thing between you and Draco is more than him torturing you. That’s why she seduced him. She’s worried that you’re going to win Draco’s heart.”  
If they only knew how impossible that was.  
“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione said. “Muggleborns and purebloods don’t go together.”  
Daphne’s lip twisted into a guarded smirk. “Let’s like you two get on alright.”  
Hermione’s mouth hanged open. What did _that_ imply?  
“Pardon?”  
“I’m not one to judge, alright? We all have our vices,” she muttered. “You’ve gotten entangled in a deadly web of Draco’s own doing. Had I other allegiances, I’d have doubts as to the security of either of you. You best look after yourself, Hermione. It is not in Draco’s nature to take risks over anyone. He - .”   
The conversation was stopped with others approached. One of them being the blasted witch herself. Pansy appraised Hermione in the seat with a deep scowl. The friend beside her, a curvy witch named Millicent, was taken aback by the Gryffindor’s presence too. Her eyes widened. She glanced at Pansy with a disagreeable look in her eye.  
It forced a false sweet smile from deceiving lips. “Haven’t you heard? She’s one of us now.”  
“Since when?” The witch barked. Her voice was rather unfortunate for a girl.  
“Ask Draco.” Pansy waved a dismissive hand. Her body slid in the seat next to Theo. Her arm laced around the back edge; one knee rested beneath her as the other leg extended beneath the table. “No matter. Just ignore her. That’s what I always do.”  
Millicent plopped down on the other side of Pansy and left Theo ultimately smashed against the window with no hopes of escape from their group now. It was very clear that neither witch wanted the seat beside the muggleborn. Their hands were very hesitant to touch the shared table.  
Daphne held her breath as the demoness waved her wand over top the table with the intent to have it scoured clean from Hermione’s assumed ilk. The two girls shared a soft moment as they looked on helpless to the tactics of Pansy Parkinson’s arsenal that were entirely formed with the glee of reminding Hermione of her blood status.   
It was Pansy’s greatest thrill to rile others. Hermione knew it only fed her ventures when there was reaction. She opted for passive. Her eyes glanced down at her nails as she’d seen Daphne do a million times.   
“What were you all just talking about before we showed up?” Millicent asked. Her voice was a deep somber tone. It barked out with statements. Hermione couldn’t help but jump a little each time she spoke.  
How much we hate the pair of you, Hermione thought to herself until her head hurt.  
Theo thought quicker than Daphne. “The missing Weasleys.”  
That put a rather strange tone over the table. Each Slytherin turned to Hermione as if she was the source of information. A curious subject matter for them, sure. It was not widely broadcast that they were pulled out in the middle of the night.  
Tension filled her lungs.   
“Well?” Pansy questioned. “What about them?”  
Gossip was king to her. All she yearned for was information to spread as a spewing fountain of useless knowledge that was valued only for the momentary triumph of being the smartest in the group for a single fleeting minute.  
“Harry Potter went with them,” Daphne said softly.   
Pansy was not impressed. “We knew that. Blimey. Am I the only one possible of extracting the information? Granger, where did the weasels go? I can’t presume to pray they were all expelled at once. Umbridge isn’t that good. Yet.”  
Her eyebrows raised as if the possibility for her friends to be removed because of their family name existed. It unsettled Hermione’s belly.   
Where was Draco?  
“I - .”  
“Granger. Fancy seeing you here.” It was from halfway across the railcar. Terry Higgs had rose out through the sea of silver and emerald to stand tall as a crowning achievement from the house. One of the few worth noting.  
Higgs was at her side in only a moment. A guarded sign of happiness was atop his face. He wore his rugged casual clothes rather than his school robes. His hips were hugged tight in a pair of light washed jeans. The taut fabric of his shirt smothered his torso. There were almost visible indentations of his ab muscles.   
Her body turned from tense to overwhelmed. The sensations of the moving train car rocked her gently, the seat below pushed against her arse like a comforting hand, distrust of the Slytherins and the anxiety of being outnumbered in their midst while she waited for Draco’s rescue. The shine of Higg’s earring did her in. She was pushed over the edge.  
She was alight. She knew it was so wrong to crave Terry. Draco hated the wizard. It was the bane of all his own life that there was a wizard like Terry Higgs interested in her.  
Bodies were odd things to embody. It responded in ways that her mind was not certain she would. There were emotions of respect for Terry. He was a kind wizard. A friend, in a way. It was true that his sexual appeal was appeasing to her eyes. A fact her body would not deny.  
But Draco. He made those feelings come to life. His fingers were the first ones to delve inside her flesh and rub her desires to a boiling point. She had tasted his tongue in hers. The length of his hand memorized the outlines of her breasts, her nipples, the soft divot at the base of her throat.   
It was Draco she wanted. Higgs was just a pleasing distraction.  
Hermione gave a shy wave. “I know. It’s becoming a bit predictable.”  
The other fifth years were surprised at his emergence. Terry Higgs was a superstar on the Quidditch Pitch and within their own house. It was said that he was the Cedric Diggory of Slytherin, which saddened the fact all the more than Cedric was a friend of his. That nickname picked at a wound rather than healed it.  
Pansy narrowed her eyes in pure hatred before they fluttered through her dense lashes up at him. “Is that a new shirt, Terry? I just love the fabric. It looks so soft. Can I touch it?”  
There was a tension as Pansy ran her hands down his chest. Daphne definitely nudged Hermione’s ribs a few times.  
“Stealer,” Daphne cursed in the slightest of whispers.   
There was substantial evidence that Pansy was a witch to pursue objects to steal them away rather than enjoy them.  
“Ooh. It is soft.” The witch gave a cheeky grin with her tongue tucked into her cheek. “But what’s underneath is not.”  
Terry Higgs spotted the open seat next to Hermione. Pansy’s eyes widened when she noticed his gaze. Her fingernails poked into Millicent’s arm. The effort of her fingers turned white against the unmoving witch.  
“Milly can move for you, Terry. Go on, Mill. Move.”  
Millicent looked at Hermione with a furrowed look. “I don’t want to.”  
“I’ll take it then,” he said. Their eyes locked as he eased into the seat next to hers. “Haven’t seen you round the Pitch much.”  
She tucked a stray, bothersome curl behind her ear. “Have you ever tried to study up there? It’s impossible.”  
“I thought you stopped coming because someone stopped you.” It was clear he meant Draco. There was no one else to stop her.   
“Nope.” She shook her head. “I just prefer the library where it isn’t freezing.”  
It was a mixture of feeling when she talked to Terry. One, she felt betrayal. It was one of Draco’s rules – the only one he enforced aggressively – to stay away from other wizards whom he believed were interested in her. How sad it was that he believed it impossible for wizards and witches to remain friends. Not all intersex relations were sexual.   
Then there was the same bloom of happiness that Terry felt comfortable enough to talk to her. The last time they spoke was on the Pitch where she explained that she was one of Draco’s ‘things’. Not pleasant to remember. She recalled it without pride.   
Draco had changed her. The effects were still unmeasured. She knew that there was a piece of her that was attracted to his darkness and control. The fight was incredible. Her body filled with tingly anticipation whenever he neared with a hard look in his eye.   
Hermione was ashamed of that. She held herself to a higher standard than most and often was physically repelled by witches who swooned over his jawlines as if the wizard underneath was merely a trophy to be earned. Now, she was one of his trophies. One that he hadn’t done enough to earn. But therein lied the question. What all had he done by his venture? Had he sealed his fate in death or had he spared hers? That was the looming curiosity: What had he done?  
There was an undivided attention at their conversation. Eyes of every color and interest strayed from focus to watch Hermione and Terry talk. Their ease of conversation and soft smiles ran a heightened contention throughout the train car. In the quiet, it was easy to notice.  
Terry asked after her holiday plans. She was happy to oblige, that she planned to ski in France with her parents. Something softened between the Slytherins. Daphne poked Hermione’s ribs and with an excited smile said, “Hey. I know what that is.”  
“Really?” Hermione said in relaxed disbelief.  
“Sure.” The witch nodded. “My aunt has a villa in the Swiss Alps. They cut the landscape much to my aunt’s chagrin, but I think it looks fascinating.”  
Higgs nodded. “Fascinating, indeed. What is the purpose of it? Do you score points of some kind?”  
“Not exactly,” she said. “You can. There is skiing in the Olympics, but my family just pleasure skis. We like to cut through the slopes. The views are incredible. And it takes a fair bit of concentration to get back down the mountain, so it can be rather freeing. Mentally.”  
Theo was suddenly confused. “But how do you win?”  
“You don’t. It’s just for fun. Leisure.”  
“Like flying,” Terry added. “It’s like Quidditch but not.”  
“Exactly,” Hermione said with a smile.   
Unlike what she imagined the Slytherin common room to be crafted in dark ebony wood and silver hardware, the train vestibule solely used to transport Slytherin house was fashioned entirely in deep walnut wood with brass fixtures fitted with brown leather and a few embroidered cushions of beige. It was filled with benches, some of wood and others of leather.   
Slytherins were speckled throughout the entirety of its length. Windows lined both sides in an unobstructed view as it passed along the outside. The castle disappeared from view as they plunged through the wildness back to the bustling city of London.   
Draco stepped through to the open carriage, saw Hermione amongst the members of his own house and was briefly startled until a cold look landed upon Terry Higgs at her side. He walked up to the table without a word. The molten silver of his eyes tried to melt Higgs to nothing.   
Alas, he remembered his manners. The gentleman he was raised to be surfaced as he greeted his classmates in his cool voice.  
“Started the fun without me, did you?” His eyes laid in Hermione’s gaze.  
She was instantly relaxed to her seat. The tension in her stomach melted away to pure butterflies.  
“We were just talking of our holidays,” Hermione explained before any other Slytherin had the mind to rile him with a lie. It was far too easily done. “Join us…oh.”  
There was no more room at the table. Everyone shifted in discomfort.  
The tension quickly rose throughout.   
Hermione, herself, was set on edge. “That’s alright. I can move.”  
His eyes hadn’t left Terry’s face for a minute. It was obvious he was not thrilled with the wizard’s presence. The say-so stayed tightly closed.   
“Higgs and you can switch spots,” Draco suggested in a shockingly lightened suggestion. “Don’t worry. Daphne doesn’t bite.”  
Daphne adjusted the bracelets on her wrist. “Shows what you know.”  
He shot a cold look.   
There was an awkward shuffling of bodies as Higgs slid out of the booth, then Hermione, and they moved past one another and slid back in. However just as she was going to sit down, Draco’s fingers touched her side. She paused.  
His touches were words. Statements. It meant that she was to wait. He took her place beside Terry, stretched out his knee and tapped it for her. Heat rose to her cheeks in a bright blush. All the fifth years noticed the odd request.  
“See. Now we all fit,” he said with a satisfied smirk.   
One hand steadied her lower back with just a few of his fingers gently pressed into her arse. She was finely attuned to it as they bounced along on the track. His other hand was displayed protectively against her knee. More than once, Terry glanced at the hold.  
She didn’t care. It was Draco who owned her. It was Draco who took the time, the patience, the care to tend to her as hard as she fought him away. In the beginning things were different. She liked Higgs for that reason. It was a time when she was unable to see the worthiness inside of Draco Malfoy.   
Now her heart was torn open and stitched crudely together with his name on it.  
It would always be there, each painful, bloody pump would remind her of who she thought of.   
Hermione wished she’d just found him in his own private car. They could speak. Freely. Not with the eyes and ears of their nosey classmates near.  
Ginny’s letter crinkled in her pocket once. It reminded her of reality. Harry. Arthur’s attack. All at once, it crashed back into the happy recesses of her mind to confront the lingering dark thoughts of worry there.   
She had to forgo the family excursion. Harry Potter, her best friend, needed her more.  
How would Draco take that news? Her eyes watched him as he was careful not to emit too much tenderness toward her in the presence of his house mates. He was rigid. His tone to her was rather cold. Colder than necessary. She wrinkled her nose in distaste when he said the word ‘mudblood’.  
It was a glaring reminder of the different worlds they hailed from. To Draco, it was proper to use vulgarity toward those assumed below their stature. At least in muggle culture it was still considered poor breeding to speak openly about prejudices.   
Hermione listened Draco and his friends offer up holiday plans as if in competition for the most lavish ridiculous Christmas ever. Theodore Nott was going to the Caribbean on a yacht with the Minister Of Magic for the West Indes. It was a premier, exclusive holiday filled with beautiful women and the richest of the richest of the Americas. Millicent was related to the Belgium royalty. She was going to attend a thrilling holiday in a castle with the Belgium prince, who happened to be an eligible bachelor.  
“They aren’t like those filthy muggles,” Millicent commented. “These are clean. They’re royalty. Prince Arrick has been raised with magical nannies. Some of the thrones closest confidants are of magical blood.”  
Hermione prickled at the remark. She tensed her jaw tightly closed.  
“Oh, yes. Those muggles aren’t the bad kind. You know, the uncivilized.” Pansy made a point to cast a sharp eye toward their muggleborn companion.  
“I’ve met several muggles on my excursions,” Theo felt confident enough to add. He shouldn’t have. “They are rather levelheaded. But they acknowledged the importance of secrecy. Lesser muggles haven’t the intelligence to understand the wizarding world. They’re like house elves. They’ve got their uses but aren’t fit with any power.”  
Elves had much power. They were incredibly powerful with magic that was bonded to their souls, used more efficiently and possessed possibilities not found in the human race. To believe elves were without strength was a fallacy.   
It showed just how delusional and pompous some of them were. Their eyes looked down upon creatures assumed below their positions. None of them thought about how they got were they were. Whose power put them in their places. Who tended their estates when a creature could murder their entire family as they slept. Who knew where vaults were and family heirlooms hidden within ancient family homes.   
It was difficult. No, torture.   
Never in her life had she withstood such anguish as she was forced to sit in the company of others, unable to react sternly. It was morally decrepit. She was coated in a dense coat of their bias. It set into her bones. She ached for a shower to rinse off their ugliness from her soul.   
How she summoned the strength to endure was unknown. The moment the train stopped, she flew from her seat out to the platform, ready to dash back to her parent’s auto and forget the interaction ever happened.  
Draco was swift in his pursuit of her. He had a hand on her trunk just as she lifted it.  
“Good girl,” he said under his breath. “Good girl.”  
She was frustrated to the point of tears. Any other moment she might have leapt into his arms to hear the words. But now. It was difficult to even look at his face.  
“I forgot how tough it is,” her lips murmured. “I’ve forgotten just what being your pet means.”  
It was easy to be blinded by the thrill of desire. Hogwarts isolated its students to focus on education, but it crippled them from the strength of reality when it fell down around them.  
Hermione was not under her own control. Her lips were only to open when given permission by Draco Malfoy. Or else, it would be both of them on a chopping block.  
She brushed her dense curls aside, forced her despair away, and let a painful sigh rip through her.  
“Write me,” he instructed as his hand left her trunk. “I will not write back, but I want a letter every day from you.”  
“What?” Her nose wrinkled and brow furrowed. “You expect a letter but can’t be bothered to send one back?”  
He glanced over his shoulder. A hand ran through his blonde locks. “Just do as I say, pet.”  
The platform surged with students of Hogwarts. Parents awaited their return with open arms. A few tears were shed for first years whose parents were unaccustomed to long absence of their child. They were reunited with embraces, kisses upon their cheeks and endless smiles.   
Through the crowd, Hermione spied her parents. They were a pair of long-legged blondes. Their eyes were a sky blue, brilliant and innocent in their big-eyed stare. Their lips exaggerated a natural lip line. They waved shily.   
Hermione choked back a chuckle. Her parents looked ridiculous!  
“Are those your parents?” Draco asked. His brow quirked into a puzzled feature.   
She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Happy Christmas, Draco.”  
“Happy Christmas…Hermione.”  
He strode through the crowd with his head held high. A cloud of black that parted smiles of warmth. The frigid gaze in his eye stole away the glee that was present on the platform.   
Through the crowd, she saw another. Platinum hair and long black robes. It was Lucius. His blue eyes appraised his son with a level chin, never looking down at him. There was a relaxing in his stern features. It was hardly endearing, but for a monster that he was, it was the best he could do, she supposed.  
Hermione watched Draco gulp. Through the distance, she saw his weight shift, confidence gone.   
Blue eyes flashed in her direction. Their gaze sliced up her flesh with their appraisal, instant scowl upon his face. Lucius regarded her lower than the scum of the Earth.  
Something about Draco’s behavior made her nervous. His anxiety made her feel frightened for him. The attention of his father attracted his.   
Both the Malfoys watched her on the platform. The attention of the world might as well turned and stared. It felt much the same.  
Worries of Draco’s safety immediately entered her mind. Voldemort was alive. Draco’s father was a known Death Eater. Perhaps his safety was compromised. Because of her.  
Hermione swallowed down all her pride. She lowly bowed in their direction.   
She crossed her fingers that it would register as respect to the pair. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip.  
They were gone the moment she looked back. Each Malfoy descended into their own cloud of darkness.  
The two strange blondes approached. Smiles on their faces blown wide in startling size.  
“Hello dear,” The man said. It sounded nothing like her father. “We’ve missed you.”  
“How was the ride in?”   
She forced a friendly smile to the foreign faces. “I have loads to tell you both. Let me find Drogon and we can go.”  
The blonde man grabbed the trunk with a single hand. His biceps bulged beneath the taut of his shirt. The blonde woman rubbed his shoulder with a soft smile as they started to follow.  
Their strange voices hummed behind her as she located her crate. Oxygen filled her lungs. Her hands grasped the handle, ready to greet the little creature inside, when she spied a flickering white tail out the corner of her eye.   
Hermione glanced inside. Empty.  
Sure enough, it was Drogon who walked the platform as if he belonged there with the rest of the school as they stomped the pavement, attention away from their feet. It was with one misstep that he’d be injured. The cat, on the other hand, was unbothered. He strutted. His white tail flickered high above his back as a lightening rod.   
“Can’t you listen to me just once?” She hissed as he greeted her with a meow.  
Her parents were immediately drawn to him. His white fur a magnet to their fingers. Drogon examined each face close as they scratched his body. Hermione saw the concentration in his eyes. Each face was looked up and down before he looked at the other face, equally confused and interested. Finally, he looked up at Hermione.  
“Let’s go home,” she hummed.


	18. Chapter 18

### CHAPTER 18

#### Simple Plots

A dark corridor lit with a single candle stretched endlessly in darkness. It was impenetrable by the naked eye. The faded green and gold wallpaper peeled in the corners near trim boards. Each portrait was shielded in a white veil. It felt a mausoleum. The air stagnant as death, dusty and aged.   
The mahogany wood creaked. Each step a betrayal of presence.   
It was narrow and tight throughout the home. The stairs ascended in a sharp angle and descended in a seemingly slide down the levels of the townhouse. The railing, an ancient broken spindle nightmare. Chips in the woods. Long scrapes down the center steps.   
The mumbling whispers of voices from within a grave. Their ghoulish tones set the hairs on the back of the neck stiff with a cold sweat.   
Hell. It was a living hell as the night bled in through the walls. Surrounding. Suffocating.   
Hermione kept her arms stretched out to keep the walls from caving in as she walked. It was the dead of night. Her mind kept her conscious in its constant state of tension. Of terror.   
She roamed the halls in pitch black. Her heart sped as the shadows fell across her vision, blacker than black. Nothing but an abyss to stare into. What stared back worried her most. The whispers of the dead. The eerie emotion of the house. Burned out names in family wallpaper and haunted memories of a dead home. It was enough to stay her sleep for a while. A long while.  
“The coming tides of cleansing,” a voice whispered.  
“The rise of the Dark Lord. It will restore the world under Morgana’s rule.”  
A sharp hiss echoed. “Deattthhhhhhhh.”  
“The world will bathe in the blood of the filth, refresh grounds anew, rise a new era of the wizard.”  
Her feet hurried down the stairs. A sensation of hands clawing at her gripped her chest in panic. They were speaking to her!   
She fell her hair pulled from the messy plaits. Her hands tensed against the railing. The next floor was a pool of darkness. It felt cold. Lonely. Cursed. She stared in through a faded black into the deepest depths of the hue.   
A board creaked under foot. Whose foot?  
Through the dark, a face appeared. It was scarred. Two hollow, sad eyes split through.  
“Remus,” she breathed. Hand on her chest.  
He acknowledged her with a subtle raise of his gaze. “Not a restful sleeper?”  
“Not recently, no.”  
His voice was something she remembered much brighter, with conviction. “Then our restless paths were bound to cross.”  
A few more steps he ascended. His body grew into the soft candle light. The man wore tattered and ripped clothing, relaxed. Nothing constricted. It must have reminded him of a full moon…  
The limp strands of his hair fell as his head titled. “I have been meaning to speak with you. The time has never felt right. I don’t suppose you would oblige me in a spot of tea?”  
She nodded. “Gladly.”  
They pair walked down the stairs together. Their feet creaked the boards in a noisy chorus. It drowned the whispering voices to nothing but a figment of imagination. The air changed. Grimmauld Place filled with the smell of parchment and ink and strong tea and butter? Her stomach growled up in need.   
The long stretch of corridor was no longer threatening. A comfort fell upon her mind.  
No shadows chased her. Spirits of the grave no longer cursed her every breath. The threats of the collapsing walls were all in her head.  
Hermione and Remus walked through a threshold. The air was warm. It smelled of a library.   
Remus murmured “Incendio”. Candles wicks grew flames under his spell.   
She liked the aura around Remus, as he moved in a serene silence that was not unsettling at all. It felt comfortable. There was no expectation of conversation. He held the quiet with ease. She did not worry there was malcontent behind his lack of words.   
A pot of steaming tea awaited a nearby table. Two cups awaited.  
“How was your term? Classes going well?” He made soft conversation. Whatever he asked, he meant to know the answer. There was no lie in that truth.  
There was a genuine softness in Remus. It was curious he was a Gryffindor at all. The wizard was timid. Strong, but timid. He held an inner peace that many in the house sought. She, too, held a bit of envy for that settled nature his soul had with him.  
He was much like Neville Longbottom. Many questioned his place within the house. She wondered if he felt the burning question too: why me?   
Hermione breathed through her nose. Her heart was ready to unload its problems across the floor for Remus’ sorting.   
He was the one member of the Order she was convinced was not rash enough to act upon anything she told him. If he was sworn to secrecy, she felt it would be honored.   
Honor. That was Remus. She trusted in his spirit, Gryffindor or not. It was in her bones that he was the right one for the job.  
“Harry struggled. Ron, too. They barely slept at all this term,” Hermione admitted. “I thought – I thought Harry might be losing himself. In his grief.”  
“His burdens are heavy.”   
The wizard was gentle in observation. He did not descend with a flurry of angelic belief that Harry was pure and a savior to the world. Remus knew what it was like to survive, the only one alive. It might not have been true. But Remus believed it. His life was endless loneliness without James Potter, Lily Evans, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black. All stolen within a single night. Left with nothing but a fear in his heart of the growing power inside his chest where he lost all semblance of himself as his flesh tore away from his bones.   
Hermione held her cup of tea in her hand. The warmth radiated throughout her fingers.  
“Forgive me for saying so,” Remus added, “but you did not answer the question. I asked after you.” A knowing look overtook his eye. “Not Harry.”  
She felt a sudden sweat spread its havoc. The hold of her cup slipped in hand.   
“You mean my letter.”  
“Excuse my rather ignorant reply. I was not comfortable in discussion of sensitive nature through a letter. The Ministry tracks them now. They’re always watching. It is the Black in Sirius that has him unafraid of what the Ministry could do to the likes of us. I err on the side of caution.”  
Hedwig was being watched. Her letters read. It was how Umbridge got her information. Harry was an interesting person.  
It was not safe to say that Draco Malfoy read her mail, too. He saw with whom she interacted with.  
“My mail safety has been compromised,” she revealed. “It was why I had the letter posted through Ginny. She ensured it was delivered without notice. I just didn’t know what else to do.”  
“I was surprised. I am not ashamed to admit that.” He pulled at a strand of his sleeve. “A gifted witch like you was quite the problem solver from what I remember. What kind of dilemma would you find yourself in need of my particular advice?”  
A love for Draco Malfoy that impedes life within Harry’s.   
Her eyes fell to her teacup. Murky brown water stared up at her with a hollow comfort in its scent.   
How much she missed him.  
“I’m sure that you’ve heard - .”  
“Of Draco Malfoy,” he finished the sentence for her. “That I have. As has the entire world by now.”  
That was where he stopped. No question. No disgust. No rant or history lesson.   
She breathed. “At the start of term, he approached me with a proposal. One that I could not refuse. He said that if I agreed to be his pet and keep his company, he would not bait Harry into fighting so that there was no encouragement for Umbridge to expel him. I agreed.”  
The sad lack luster green in his sockets looked on. Not a word was added. Again, no question.   
He listened.  
“At first it was hell. He tortured me awfully. I was miserable.” She recalled that day in the lake with bitterness. He’d crossed the line with what he said. All because he knew there was something between them that was not always hatred. Suddenly, she remembered where she was. Her eyes had dribbled water down her cheeks in a slight stream. She wiped the back of her hand down their length. “Now, I’m not convinced his motives were based solely upon his need to hurt me. I think, I think he knows something. Something that would have my life endangered if he didn’t do something to protect it.”  
Her gaze finally found his. She wished to have been a more noble witch of Gryffindor. It was despicable how she behaved during the course of the school term.  
Galivanting with a known Death Eater relation without care was unfounded by an Order member. It was worthy of great shame. She forgot what side she was on and lost herself in between.  
Remus laced his fingers together. “What is it that you ask of me? Permission?”  
What was there to want in such a circumstance? A way to absolve Draco of future wrongdoing? The right to continue on with him even though their alliances were at odds with one another? What was there to be done for Draco’s soul?  
“No. I – I just wanted someone to know the truth in the Order,” she revealed. “They might say things about me. One day. And, I just want someone who knows the truth of me.”  
He regarded her softly. The question in the air was clear. His mind arrived to it soon enough. It was not too much of a leap to arrive at the truth. She loved Draco Malfoy.  
Once more, her eyes overflowed with tears. She was not even sure why.  
Remus handed her a handkerchief. “Are you familiar with a bank robbery in 1973 in a small bank in Stockholm, Sweden?”  
Her breath caught. “I beg your pardon?”  
“A bank robbery gone wrong. Two men took four hostages and held them in a bank vault for six days,” Remus explained. “When it all ended and the hostages rescued, none said they would testify. Instead, they fought to have the men acquitted of their crime. Even raised money for their defense.”  
Time slowed to a stop. Neither said a word. Breath was nonexistent.   
“You mean to say that you think it’s possible I have Stockholm Syndrome?”  
He shrugged. “I know very little. What is my advice to the one experiencing it? But it is unwise to say that it could not be a possible explanation for the sudden change of heart.”  
Stockholm Syndrome.  
Was it possible? Godric, could that be the source of her emotions? She was plagued with doubt. Severe doubt of herself.   
Her connection to Draco went against everything she believed in. Hermione was dragged into a position close to him, but it was him, not her, that changed. He was the same spoiled prat he always was. There was not a thing that could change him that much. The wizard was meant to be a pain in the arse.  
Hermione was pained. “My mind says no. It is not Stockholm.”  
He accepted it. There was no flash of doubt in her judgement. He proceeded without another question on the qualifying criteria.   
“Times like these are dangerous, Hermione. We cannot be too careful with ourselves. The world depends upon it,” he said.   
The beating of her heart stopped. She felt the request to stop seeing Draco rising. It had to come. It was the right order of business. She was unable to process it though. She could not. A life without Draco? That was torture.  
“Voldemort’s power is growing. His shadow spread,” Remus said in a faraway tone. “It is now when our actions must be progress. A war is not won without risk. Our lives are the risk we take.”  
“Draco Malfoy has light in him. There is good in there.” Her lips ached from all the biting. “I’d bet my life on it.”  
The wizard sipped from his teacup. The steam cloud rested across his face as he drank.  
“Whatever information he can give me, I will deliver it to you,” she explained. “Only you.”  
It was quiet for a time. Remus drank his tea. Hermione examined the room.   
The office was comprised of a small desk. Cherry red. The wallpaper was of yellow flowers, closed in the dark of night. Come morning, they would bloom in full vibrancy, a spread of petals in dull yellow to shimmery gold.   
Two overstuffed book cupboards sat in a corner. A lounge chair just beneath their height. It was complete with a candelabra atop a small oak table. Thick dark drapes hanged across the windows. Large tassels rested along each side. Their strands were frayed with age.   
Remus rested in a rocking chair placed in front of a modest stone fireplace. The mantle was filled with pale candles, wax melted down their bodies and in a hardened pool around their base. Old ornate frames of Blacks long past resided within their glass. Dead center was a clock. It was simple. The face was plain grey with two little hands that were arrows to the roman numeral.   
A set of tools rested in a round carousel off the side of the hearth. Their antique brass left them darker than the other fixtures. A crow head was crafted into each handle. Their dead black eyes looked on in hollow sockets as time passed in infinite loops.  
Steam eventually stopped its climb through the air. Teacups cooled to lukewarm. The taste swirled across Hermione’s tongue in gentle waves against her cheeks as she warmed what little she could with her mouth.  
Remus’ tea was forgotten. It was long abandoned in it’s place atop a small table.   
“Things have been different for you,” Remus said as if lost in a trance. He was solemn. The chair rocked back and forth against worn boards. It was the steady beating of her heart that she heard. “Your fate rests differently than the rest of us.”  
She gripped the small teacup in her hand. “What do you mean?”  
His breath was a soft exhale from between his lips. “I know you’ve heard whispers, rumors if you will, of a list. Voldemort’s list.”  
Her blood ran cold. The dreaded list.   
“It is said that your life shall be spared,” Remus said.  
“And spared means imprisoned.”  
“That is not confirmed.”  
“What else could it mean?” She blurted frantically. “I’m not aligned with him. I’ve done nothing worthy of being spared. I’m all that they detest. Muggleborn, smart, defiant. Sparing my life is only logical if they have use of me which they have to know I shall resist. It is not a difficult leap to imprisonment.”  
Remus’ lips sloped downward. Wrinkles curled around his frown. “There are things we are not seeing. A motive, perhaps. A goal that we do not understand.”  
“That won’t help me sleep at night.”  
It was a rather harsh statement. She did not regret it. Her tone, however, was harder than it should have been. Remus was not an enemy, but an ally. Their discussion was not an argument.  
She bit her lip.   
“No.” He sighed. “I suppose it does not.”  
He was silent again for a long time. It was so long that Hermione believed he dozed off.  
“Of all the ones to choose,” his voice alive through the air, “what was it that decided upon me?”  
“So many Gryffindors in a group makes us rather rash and perhaps, a bit stupidly brave that we can be blinded by our nature to not see the side of reason,” Hermione explained. “I thought you would let me explain myself.” She sighed. She had to be honest with him. That was the least he deserved. “It would be a lie to say that your circumstance had no part in it.”  
His eyes moved slowly to her face. “Circumstance?”  
She nodded. “What happened, after that night in Godric’s Hollow. The suffering you endured for your friends. How alone you must have felt…It is how I feel. At least, I imagine it is. I will endure anything for my friends and for the Order. My life will be thrown down to save Harrys with no question to it. But, what happens if I’m not fast enough? What happens if they overrule us? I’m taken. Without my friends or family. Not a comfort in the world. What happens when the darkness rules this world? I’ll be left with no one. Same as you. Only. There would be no hope of their return. Ever.” She wiped the watery line of her eyes. “Either way, I’m on my own.”  
Alone. She did her best work on her own.  
But alone was a stance she hated. Her against the world. She did not thrive on the idea of no support. It was just another sinking feeling of being singled out in a world that she did not truly belong to, like in the muggle world where she was a witch with powers and in the wizarding world where she was muggleborn and disadvantaged at every opportunity.   
Hermione knew that the path she’d chosen was a lonely one, but just herself? She was not ready for that. Perhaps, that was the appeal of Draco Malfoy. It was not his beauty or his attention or the care he took. Draco was apart of a world she was bound to be latched to, whether she liked it or not. If she had one friend amongst a den of enemies, the time might not feel so depressing. Maybe, he would bring her comfort.  
The night fell into a silence once more. It was early in the morning. The sound of Remus’ chair the only sound throughout the house.   
A deep sadness hit her chest. Her heart broke for the loss of the love of Draco. She was not in love. It was her protecting herself. Her mind had riddled out a problem and sought the next possible solution that would make it less troubling. How had she done that?  
All again her vision turned cloudy with color. Her nose started to drip. She was overcome with the sharp wave of heartbreak.   
She wanted to be alone.  
Her hands set down the tea. Only a soft clink of the porcelain as it hit the wood. “Thanks for the tea,” her lips murmured. Its strength was smaller than the boards under foot.   
Remus hardly acknowledged her at all as he rocked. His hum the only reply.   
She exited the room, careful not to disturb the peace, and once the door was latched behind, she ran through the dark halls up to her room and locked the door behind her. Her breath rattled out her chest. Each breath hurt. The burn in her throat watered her eyes and flared her nostrils.  
Her back pressed against the door. The course wood poked through the loose weave of her jumper to the bones of her spine. Tears overwhelmed her. They spilled down in silence. The breaths of her roommate the only sound that filled her ears.  
Somehow, Hermione was able to crawl beneath her blankets and find rest. She rose in the morning with a bright sun igniting the room. It was a room that Ginny and Hermione shared within Grimmauld Place when they visited. Sirius offered them a bigger guest room fitted with two double beds, a personal fireplace, an attached loo.  
The wall paneling was of rich wood. Each panel was lined with white trim boards. The silk drapes were thrown wide open. It mattered not. Each mattress was encompassed in bed curtains of thick brown. Hermione and Ginny left their beds in open air. It eased the flow of sunlight in the mornings, which helped them both rise.  
There were few things ever updated within the wizarding world. All too often styles were the same as they had been for a century. It was a difficult sensation to shake when laid beneath a comforter that was bound to have scores of wizards and witches sleep beneath it.  
Sirius had done one thing to update the room. New sheets. Of course, they were a blaring statement of brown and beige, fitted to the room, however the cheetah animal print was more suited of a different room statement. The girls had laughed when Mrs. Weasley’s eyes bulged when she spied the sheets. Her lips mumbled something to Sirius of appreciation, but her face said otherwise.  
Hermione rolled onto her other side in search of a coolness in her pillow. On the other bed was a crossed legged Ginny. Her face was speckled with green. The witch had a book within her hands as she waited for the face mask to set.   
Her eyes sped through the page. An entire page was devoured in no time.  
“_A Witches Guide to Quidditch Playing_?” Her eyes were rubbed vigorously. She thought she had misread the title. “Gin, what in Godric’s name are you reading that for? You know how to play Quidditch. Better than most.”  
Ginny frowned and placed the book aside. “Just thought I’d see what it had to say.”  
Godric, Hermione’s eyes burned. She blinked many times to bring moisture to their dry bodies. All her tears were cried out last night.  
She rose in her bed. “Does this have to do with you replacing Harry on the team?”  
Her friend continued to frown. That was not something ever associated with the witch. She was a confident witch, strong and unyielding in the face of a challenge.  
Hermione pulled her legs from the sheets and slid onto the floor. Her feet traipsed over toward Ginny. She held her friend in a side hug.  
“You’ll be brilliant,” she reassured her.  
“One mistake, and they’ll boo from the stands,” Ginny said. “They’ll compare me to Harry. Every move I make will be subpar to what he could have done. It will never be about my skill.”  
They faced each other, crossed legged.   
Ginny wore her oversized T-shirt as a nightdress with only some boy short knickers beneath. The bare of her legs exposed the bruises from practice. The house team had lots of training to do since Harry and the twin’s expulsion from the game.   
It did not bode well for Gryffindor’s Quidditch season. After personally seeing the fluidity of Slytherin’s team in practice, there was little that would match them. Especially without Harry there.   
But it was not Ginny Weasley’s fault. She did not get Harry kicked out of Quidditch.   
Draco did. Well, Harry did too for being so hot-headed. Derogatory comment or not, Harry should have known better. For Merlin’s sake, loads of people saw it happen!  
“You’ve been sneaking out and stealing your brother’s brooms to fly as long as you can remember. You’ve loved the game even longer than Harry. There is little you cannot do. You never let any challenge stop you before.”  
One finger started scratching at the dried face mask. Ginny was a nervous picker. She’d itch and scratch and bother anything when she was anxious, but it happened so rarely, that it was noticeable.  
Hermione bit her bottom lip. Her advice did not seem to help soothe the anxiety.  
She tapped the book. “Did you find anything good?”  
Ginny’s face instantly curled in distaste. “Not unless ‘follow male leadership. Their experience and prowess within the game harbors much needed information that witches simply don’t have’ is good.” She flung the book to the floorboards. “It’s hopeless. I’m never going to be able to do this.”  
Horrified at such a terrible, awful book, Hermione’s mind reeled with frustration. How could they market such filth in the realms of knowledge? Was nothing sacred?  
Of course, then she was reminded of what truly mattered. Her friend needed help. She wanted to have her own spot on the team that was not overshadowed by Harry’s ejection.   
To say it was an easy task was an understatement. Gryffindor still grieved for the loss of three really good players.  
“Why don’t you ask Harry?” Hermione offered with a smile.  
Ginny grimaced. “I’d rather not.”  
“No. Honestly. You should ask him. Only he knows the pressure of the position. And if you work with Harry, perhaps have him out there on the Pitch as you learn how to play with the team, everyone else will feel like they have his support. That might make things meld easier.”  
“But I don’t need his support to be on the team! And I shouldn’t need it to be accepted.”  
“I agree,” Hermione said softly. “But there are few options. It’s either do it on your own and to hell with what the stands have to say, which I say is an excellent choice because they aren’t the ones flying on the brooms, are they? Or, you have Harry give you some pointers and help you integrate into the team, which is also a good option because he’s had many seasons to work with the team. You’re thrown in mid-season to cover for him without all the practice he’s had. It’s going to be tough.”  
It was a time that Ginny thought quietly. The choice was rather large.   
Hermione understood that it was a question of integrity and pride. As a witch, she fully supported Ginny’s wish to do it herself. There was strength within a witch to do just as the wizards did on the brooms. But part of her realized it wasn’t necessarily about being a witch. It was the fact that the whole team practiced with Harry. They were a team. Throwing someone new into the mix without any warning was a difficult change in team dynamics. There were witches on the team bound to coarsely clash with Ginny on the sole idea that she did not belong.  
Ginny fell back atop the mattress. “Perhaps you’re right.”  
Hermione rubbed Ginny’s knee in comfort. “I’m sorry. At least Harry is your friend. He’ll help you if you ask.”  
“When did everything get so difficult?” Ginny groaned.  
Hermione echoed a hollow laugh. “I know, right?”  
It was quiet for a time between the girls. They awaited the sounds of the house to echo with life. Breakfast was only served once in Grimmauld Place so it was done at a time when the late risers were finally awake.   
There was still a silence that creapt through the halls. Ron and Harry were bound to be sleeping. As were the twins.   
The soft clatter of dishes in the kitchen sounded like Mrs. Weasley. It was possible she fussed with the elves over some matter. She was a witch that was used to running her own household without outside help. No matter how much Sirius assured her that the elves would handle any request made, Mrs. Weasley preferred to do it herself.  
Hermione watched the world move on outside the bright window. It overlooked the streets of muggle London. People so happy, so oblivious to the world that was right in front of them. If they only knew what danger lurked…  
“Scourify.” Ginny held the wand to her face. All of a sudden, the bits of green mask were peeled from her skin and vanquished to someplace else.  
They sat a little while longer in silence before it got the better of Ginny. She sat up from the bed with a curious look on her face.  
“Have you gotten another one of your massive headaches?”  
Hermione got tense at the question that required her to lie. “None.”  
“That’s good.” The witch ran her fingers through the flat red strands of her hair. “Has Malfoy crawled back to you yet? You know he’s going to. It’s practically been killing him to stay away. You can just see it in his eyes.”  
She casted a doubtful gaze. “And when do you ever see his eyes?”  
“In the Great Hall. You know he sits in line with us so he can see you.” When Hermione made no effort to reply, the witch continued, “Did you tell him? Is that why you got that headache? Because you two fought?”  
No matter how hard Hermione made the desire to not talk about it known, the harder Ginny pressed.   
It was only natural to be curious. Hermione had told Ginny that she loved Draco and then Hermione was laid up in hospital with a migraine and stopped seeing him all together. That was enough to put it together.   
Harry and Ron just guessed that Draco was mean enough to drive her away. Like that was possible. How could he be any meaner than he had been in years past?   
“He apologized,” Hermione stated. “That’s all.”  
“So what does that mean? Does he love you back?”  
Good question, Gin. Please ask him.  
“He’s a complicated wizard, Ginny. He doesn’t express himself like that.”  
A swift derisive snort was made from the redhead’s nose. “Oh, yes. I know Malfoy to be a silent contemplative type.”  
Hermione could not help but chuckle. “I just meant that he shows how much he cares in actions, not words. We sat on the Hogwarts Express back to London together.”  
“What?” Ginny’s mouth fell open.  
“I sat on his lap – “  
“_What?_”   
“In the Slytherin car,” Hermione finished.  
Ginny was so overwhelmed with the news that she sat with her mouth open, wide-eyed, and totally aghast at what to say. Her hands hovered in the air, in question.   
It took several long moments for the witch to recover.  
“Did my mind just stroke off for a minute or did you say that you sat in the Slytherin car, with all the other Slytherins, with Draco Malfoy, on his lap?”  
Bashfully, Hermione shielded her face from her friend’s gaze. “No. You heard correct.”  
“Oh My Godric! This is huge.” Ginny grabbed Hermione’s wrists. “How could you not tell me this? This is so huge. I can’t even think.”  
“Swear you won’t tell Ron or Harry.”  
“Witch, like you even have to say that. You know I won’t.” Ginny gave a warning look. “Now, what’s the plan?”  
Hermione blinked. “Plan?”  
“Yeah, your plan. You’ve got to have a plan,” Ginny said. “You aren’t going to stay in his group of friends forever, are you? You’ve got to get him over to the Gryffindors. You know. Where you belong.”  
Her flesh sensed the rising tension. She expected it to come. Gooseflesh puckered her skin as a lump rose higher and higher in her throat.  
What could she say? It hurt to lie to her best friend. Godric, how she hated it. She hated herself for it.  
“It’s too early to think about stuff like that,” she said with the most forced tone of normalcy as she ever managed. “We need to figure things out first before we think about that.”  
“He’s got to be scared out of his mind now that he knows he’s liked you all these years.” Ginny chuckled. “Merlin, I wish I could have seen his face. Was he horrified?”  
Hermione’s jaw fell slack. “Ginevra Weasley!”  
“Not that it’s a bad thing. I just warrant it’s a bit of a shock to hate someone then find out all the while, it wasn’t hate.” Ginny fell quiet. She smiled about something, clearly delighted. “Does this mean that he’s going to turn to the light? I mean, he’s got to, right?”  
That was exactly what she wanted to avoid. How could she answer that without poising the possibility that it might not happen like that?   
She swallowed that lump down. Her nerves could not rule her.  
“Actually, we don’t talk about things like that.”  
Her friend’s body snapped to attention, a sudden rigidness throughout her limbs in the blink of an eye. “What?”  
“It’s not like we talk about Voldemort or the war. Godric, we’d only fight then.”  
“So he’s still…dark?”  
“He might be.” Hermione shrugged, unable to meet her friend’s eye. “I don’t doubt he is.”  
Ginny grabbed hold of Hemione’s hand. “How? How can that be? How can he love you and still be what he is?”  
“I don’t know. Really, I don’t.” She put her face in her hands uncertain if it was the weight of the world that rested there or just her mind. “He did all this for a reason. There is something he knows that makes him protective. No wizard is widely protective for no reason. He’s got to know something. A plot, perhaps, to compromise my safety?”  
Ginny grabbed hold of Hemione’s shoulders and wretched them back at forth like a shaken vending machine. Hermione felt her brain literally hit the insides of her skull.   
“Your mind isn’t letting you see the truth, Hermione. You’re all wrapped up in logic and rational that you are incapable of seeing the truth. The wizard has been in love with you for years,” Ginny said loudly. “It was only last term when everyone noticed your smokin’ hot bod next to Viktor ‘Prince Charming’ Krum’s that wizards started to notice. He laid claim over you and protect that claim so that no one else climbs up in there before him.”  
That. Was. Ridiculous.  
“It cannot be that simple.” Hermione shook her head.  
The witch in front of her face nodded. “It really is.”  
“No. There’s got to be more. Some plot. Something that encouraged him. Wizards always have motivating factors.”  
“Yeah, it’s called a cock,” Ginny said.  
“He’s a complex wizard!”  
“He’s a wizard.”  
Hermione wagged a finger. Her mind had the clarification that would make all the difference. “He’s a Slytherin. Simple plots are not their style. They love long, elaborate, purposeful actions. He wouldn’t risk his life and the entire fortune in those vaults for a witch. He’s got the entire world to choose from.”  
“Clearly you don’t know what kind of witch you are.” Ginny raised a brow. “Face it, Mione. He’s hooked on you. The only reason he chose to do anything about it is because he knew that it wouldn’t be long before some other wizard started thinking the way he’s been thinking since first year.”


	19. Chapter 19

### CHAPTER 19

#### Clever

The return to the platform was a thrilling experience. The onslaught of emotions of the holiday break gave a startling need to return to normalcy. There was hardly time to touch a book at Grimmauld Place, much less review upcoming lessons for next term.   
Hermione’s parents walked with her through the portal at King’s Cross Station down to the Hogwarts Platform. Students of every house and year were scattered about the entire place with no sense of order. Cages of beloved pets sat on the floor, narrowly missed by trunk trolleys or kicked over by feet.  
The loud atmosphere was different than the quiet lull of her holiday. She was not accustomed to such volume. She winced as she passed a rambunctious group of second year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. The joy on their faces did little to cool the hot tension rising in her belly.  
Not one letter was received from Draco all holiday. She wrote him every day, just as he asked. Concern of his safety left her on edge. It was possible the repercussions for his behavior earned him a punishment. The mystery lied upon the shoulders of Lucius. What would he do to his own son?  
Hermione Granger looked over her shoulder to ensure her parents still trailed behind. They wore the faces and bodies of people similar to her, rather than the blonde lavish models they were at the start of break. They were happy, as always, to be there. Her parents loved the wizarding world. It pained her so much how little they were able to be part of it.   
Her mum caught her eye and looped her arm around her neck and pulled her in close. “There are plenty Christmas’ to go skiing.” It was a voice that Hermione was not used to, but the comforting touch was the same. It was mum. “I’m just glad you could be there for your friend when he needed you. That’s what makes you such a wonderful daughter.”  
“We’re proud of you, sugarplum.”  
An instant blush took over her face. “Dad.”  
“I know, I know. You’re grown now.”  
“But you’ll always be our sweet little sugarplum.” Her mum planted a soft kiss against her forehead.   
“Must you insist on saying that name in public?” She tried to overcome her parent’s obvious love of mortifying their daughter like she was not sixteen years old. Her love of them was endless. They were the two people who loved her without question or care what she was, but they were still her parents. They loved to make her blush.   
Her dad pushed the trolley close to the first car right behind the red engine. There was an opened cupboard where other trunks were stuffed. The attendant grabbed the trunk off her trolley. Her pet crate where Drogon rested was tucked safely beside the trunk.   
The attendant checked the latch on the crate. When met with her curious gaze, he offered an explanation.  
“Somebody’s cat got out and wreaked havoc on the carriage. Hoses of the engine were chewed. There a hole in the compartment with the trunks. Whatever it was chewed through it all,” the attendant said. “We’ve searched the entire train. There is no threat to anyone’s belongings. Your things will be safe. We just are ensuring all animals are secured.”  
Her eyes glanced at Drogon. He was curled up tightly, happy with his half crescent closed eyes. The thing looked so satisfied with himself. She, on the other hand, was horrified at his behavior. There was no doubt he was the animal in question that destroyed the train.  
Godric, he was so much like Draco. No wonder her roommates thought it was him.   
Hermione thanked the attendant for his dedication to their safety.   
Her parents followed her across the platform. She scanned the crowd. A large group of red heads were in the crowd moving fast. It was the Weasley family. They were running late. Mrs. Weasley split up their goodie bags between her four children and Harry before she sent them on their way to deposit their school trunks.   
Ron’s eyes spied her first. “Mione! Hey. Nice to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger.”  
No charm was too strong to pass his notice. She’d revealed her plan to disguise her parents last year. He thought it was a good idea. Ron was the one to consult on strategy. He knew wizard’s chess like the back of his hand. It was obnoxious how well he played. She was impressed by his lack of finesse in much of anything, but chess proved he was more of a strategist than any of the house.  
Mum and dad waved their hands as the red head approached. “How was the ride in?” They asked.  
“Good. We woke late, like usual.” His eyes were brilliant blue. He smiled at Hermione. They wrapped in a hug. It was only a few days since she had seen him, but it was a new atmosphere on the platform. Hope and giddiness always filled their bodies. “Dad actually wanted to talk to yous. He was curious if you’d do dentist things to his teeth.”  
Her parents withheld their laughs. They knew Ronald did not know the proper terms for muggle things. The Weasleys understood that her parents tended to people’s teeth. It was clear they were curious as to what it entailed.  
“You mean a cleaning, Ron. He’d like a dental cleaning.”  
“Oi. That’s right. Cleaning. He wants to know what it feels like.”  
Hermione’s dad chuckled. “I’ll go chat with him.”  
They congregated together: Ron, Arthur, Fred, George, her dad. They all listened as her father described what a cleaning entailed. Plenty of questions echoed throughout the group.   
Ginny and Molly were in private counsel. Their lips moved rather quickly about something.  
It left Hermione and her mum with a few stolen moments alone. The crowd pushed through toward the train. Time was close that it would depart. There were goodbyes through the air as children mounted the red carriages.  
They drifted back, farther away from the Weasley’s, to make room for the flash flood of students to the car.  
Hermione had lost all attention of where they stood. It was in pureblood territory. The parents of pureblood dressed in garb dated past the last century. Their hats were pointed. Every one wore cloaks or robes. The haughty way their noses upturned confirmed it.   
There was a pair of witches with a pair of equally blonde parents whom spoke softly. The mother was beautiful. One of the most beautiful witches Hermione ever saw. She was slender and graceful. Nothing about her was offensive. Soft. That’s what she looked like. Just, soft and gentle.   
Both her daughters resembled her. Their faces mirrored the same eyes and complexion. Though, only one exuded the same air of grace as their mother.   
Hermione watched them for so long, one of them caught eyes with her. The face lit up in recognition.  
It was Daphne Greengrass! She waved frantically. It caught the notice of her younger sister. The shy witch, a few years younger than them, gave a hint of a smile across her beautiful pink lips before she turned away in blush.  
“Ello Hermione!” Daphne greeted her with an excited tone. She was the least regal of all the pureblood witches, except perhaps Pansy. The witch opened her arms and wrapped her in a hug. “How was Christmas? Did you get anything good? Is this your mum? Hello. How do you do? I’m Daphne.”  
Daphne gestured her sister to tread closer. “And this is my sister, Tori. It’s Astoria the long ways. But we all call her Tori.”  
Hermione’s mum smiled. “I just love your cloaks. They’re very flattering. Such a pretty blue.”  
Astoria – Tori – blushed. She offered a quiet thank you in return. She was a lovely witch. So soft, like her mother.   
Daphne preferred a bit of coarseness in her appearance. She wore bracelets upon bracelets, all of different color and texture. Her fingers were not decorated with the little black symbols, but on the train ride in, they would be. Her robes were blue like her sister’s but there was a way she wore them that reflected her distaste for them, wrinkled and hung off her body rather than fitted to her curves.   
“Mum said the Malfoy’s are already here,” Daphne stated with a knowing look.   
To her side, Tori whimpered beneath her breath and looked away.   
“Ooh. Who are the Malfoy’s?” Mum asked. Her hands went to her knees as she leaned in close to whisper, “Do they happen to have a handsome son?”  
Hermione’s jaw dropped. Her face turned a violent red. “Mum!”  
“Does she fancy him?” Her mum asked.  
The whistle of the train was all that saved her from utter devastation. Hermione planted a quick kiss on her cheek before she was whisked away toward the carriages. She scanned for her father in the crowd, but she couldn’t remember that his charm looked like.   
Daphne and Tori waved to their own parents before thrusting into the works of the Hogwarts students. Through the crowd of rushing last minute boarding, Ginny was able to find Hermione and bring her to the compartment that Ron and Harry had set up shop in.  
The train ride was uneventful. They enjoyed each other’s company. Harry relayed that the Order supported the idea of his training with Professor Snape.  
Hermione felt uncomfortable at the mention of his name. She was still tense about what happened with Madame Pomphrey. Stealing a person’s memories was an awful crime. It stole parts of their mind. That was an exercise of power that was ethically wrong.   
When he arrived at Grimmauld Place over the holiday, she was reminded all at once of what’d happened between them. Even in his eye, when he regarded her with his usual cold glare, there was that knowing in his eye that spoke to his knowledge of her secret.  
Her stomach rolled and rolled. She tried to push the memories out.   
“At least we don’t have Malfoy to worry about, right Hermione?” Harry said. The eyes of the compartment turned to her. “I still don’t know what you saw in friendship with him. He’s nothing but rotten. The entire family is. Can’t trust someone like that.”  
She crossed her legs. “We’re still friends, Harry.”  
“How?” He adjusted his glasses. “How can you stand him? You know he’s all we hate.”  
Ginny caught her eye. They shared a similar tension at the truth. Harry hadn’t understood the look. The tirade on Draco Malfoy continued with his frustration a verbal signal.   
“You know what he said about Molly. How can you forgive him?”  
She bristled. “You’ve said more than your fair share of awful things. Just because it didn’t disrespect anyone you cared about does not mean it does not carry blame. Should we not be friends either?”  
Harry was surprised that he was not above reproach. His eyebrows raised over the rims of his glasses.   
It was her that gave up personal time with her parents to tend to his wounds. It was her and Ron all year long that stood by his side while he fought them and questioned their loyalty to him. It was her concern that kept him alive this long.   
“I’ve been a good friend to you, Harry. Trust that,” she said as she grabbed hold of her jumper. “Next time, ask yourself how I might feel about it before you decide to share your opinion. You’ve done plenty I haven’t approved of without concern of me or Ron. I’d expect the same extension of support that I give you.”  
The door slammed after her exit. She had not meant to close it so hard. It just slipped out her grip.  
Hermione spent the rest of the time in the Prefect Carriage near the front of the train. She read in a book in a peaceful air. It calmed her thoughts from the anger she felt. By the time the train stopped in Hogsmeade Station, she was better. Her pulse was steady and not at all forceful.  
She rode the carriages with Luna and Neville and Ginny. Harry and Ron stayed back to ride with Dean and Seamus, a good choice if he still had motive to talk about Draco Malfoy. Her wand itched for a hex.  
“Godric, that was an awkward train ride,” Ginny murmured. “Ron and I had to pretend that we hadn’t heard a word of it as he steamed.”  
“I don’t care. Harry cannot just complain about everything I do. I don’t complain about him snapping at people and getting angry because he’s frustrated.”  
“He’s just anxious about his lessons with Snape.”  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “It is always something with him.”  
“He’ll apologize.”   
“I know he will,” Hermione said. “I’m just not suffering while I wait him out.”  
The witches turned their attention to the coming term. They were both excited. Except for Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was a waste of time. They were taught as though they were five years old. It eroded the skills they learned previous years.  
Hermione was grateful for the DA. She wished that more students would be able to join. It should be widely taught in place of the joke of a class and that joke of a professor. The woman was not fit to be a teacher. She was a government hack. It was her sole purpose to discredit Dumbledore because of Minister Fudge’s fear that he might lose power. She purposed awful acts to limit the lives of magical creatures throughout their shared magical world. How it was accepted by the school’s board of governors was beyond Hermione’s understanding.  
The first professor they saw as they entered the castle was the witch herself. She was donned in a fuzzy feather boa dress of pale pink. Her silver pumps pushed out in front of her as she watched the students filter in through Merlin’s Gate. The cold smile on her face gave the illusion of a clown’s dead-eyed face. Now it was impossible to shake the image from her head.  
Hermione caught scent of her perfume and almost vomited. The stench was so strong.  
There was a feast when students returned from Christmas holiday. They were ushered into the Great Hall through the long corridors of Hogwarts. It was a grand time. Before the meal, all the students congregated, regardless of house, to reconnect with their classmates.   
It was a free time for them to settle before the start of term.   
Ginny was pulled away to her friends in Hufflepuff who were eager to hear of her father’s recovery. It left Hermione alone in the biggest room of the castle with not a soul to cling to. She navigated through little groups. One was Neville with whom made polite, albeit jilted conversation. The last time she’d seen him was in St. Mungos where his parents resided. That was when she learned of Neville’s parents’ condition.   
Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black, tortured them until they lost their minds. An awful fate. After seeing Gilderoy Lockhart locked within St. Mungos because of her friends, Hermione was convinced it was a fate worse than death to not recognize a single familiar face. Or to know what you’d accomplished in the world. To awake with a blank mind and fall asleep knowing it’d all be lost the next time daylight showed.  
She casually scanned through the growing crowd as she lingered near Neville. Her eyes collided straight into a pair of stormy grey orbs. Breath caught in her throat. It’d been two weeks since she saw him. All at once she was swallowed by a suffocating wave to rejoin his side, kiss him gently, hold him in her arms until the flurry of his moods made her want to curse him again.   
Draco wore a casual suit of solid black with a white shirt beneath. There was lively texture to his hair. No more slick oil to his head. The platinum locks were spiked in gentle peaks. The sharp smirk on his lip almost had her undone.  
It was a sudden change to her body that Neville stepped forth with concern.  
“Something wrong there, Hermione?” He asked.  
She forced a smile though she was full of something other than politeness. “I’m alright. Just need a bit of air. Excuse me.”  
“Sure you don’t need a spot of company?”  
“Oh, no.” She waved him away dismissively. It was so sweet. But not the time. “You go ahead and mingle. I’ll be back in a bit.”  
A pep entered her step as she exited the Great Hall, now packed to the walls with everyone. It was a dense thick fog of breath. Hot and sticky. The moment she broke through the barrier, cool fresh air entered her nose like a gentle breeze.  
She breathed in greedily. Whatever it would take to calm the heat of her body. Her hands fanned in soft gusts against her face to keep her from sweating out her shirt. It was just by pure chance she wore that purple lilac shirt Draco loved so much.   
It hugged her torso tight. Her small breasts protruded from her body without the protection of a jumper. That was tied around her hips. It’d gotten too warm in the trek through the castle where all her classmates bodies joined the raging fire places in a sweaty hot prison.   
Her jeans were high waisted with sailor buttons across her lower abdomen. They cut her silhouette rather drastic against the blurred edges of her school uniform jumpers and trousers.   
Hermione ducked through to the cobblestone courtyard to gain a moment. All that time she hadn’t heard steps behind her. Yet there was someone there when she turned back around.  
He did not stop until his hands were on her. Silent and without a word, his lips pressed against hers. His warmth battled with hers. She threw arms around his neck without hesitation as his needy hands that groped at her exposed features filled her with the desire to be close. Their bodies pressed into one another. His belt into her waist. Her hands in his hair. His hands slapping her arse with a loud smack and holding onto the flesh as it were to fly away without it.   
He backed her up against the stone wall of the castle. One palm rested at the base of her throat as his lips delicately kissed a line down the tender flesh. Her knickers lit with fire. She was filled with the deep need to press into him, too.   
His body crushed hers. The weight of him entirely atop of her. She burned with tingles beneath his touch. Tickles of his wet lips as they danced across her cheeks, down the line of her jaw.   
Hermione was completely ravished. Her clothes, her hair that he pulled from the plaits himself to toy with, her lips, her breasts. It drowned out the throbbing questions that her mind yearned to know in lieu of what pleasures he gave with the tips of his fingers.  
The edge of her ear was teased with his ragged breaths. It did little to calm her.   
Her fingers found the buckle of his belt. The cool metal splintered through the heat within her blood. A thrill to have the power in her own hand. She pulled the prong from its seat within his trousers with climbing need to feel what was within. Her mind wandered to the question of just what it felt like to have him in her palm. The source of his utter sensation grasped in her hand, only her, as his eyes stared into hers while waves of pleasure rippled through his body. She knew the profound effect it had on a person. Draco’s breath caught as the weight of his belt fell slack around his waist. The button of his trousers was left for her to unfasten and delve to the depths of his boxers where a stiff staff awaited her grasp.  
Draco’s eyes were suddenly blown wide when her grasp finally took hold of his cock. Their eyes met. She was not ashamed of the way she stroked him. It gave her wicked delight to watch the black of his eye grow. She was all he saw. Pleasure filled his body, just as he’d done to her before, and she was the source of it.  
He pressed his forehead into hers. His breaths, still ragged and uneven. The control to not shag him right there was close to being lost. A slight tingle of fear coursed her spine, the back of her thoughts, as to whether it was wise to shag Malfoy.   
Of course, it was drowned by the lust. All the lust.  
Her hand held the hot flesh in hand. It was long, a bit slender. She’d never seen a cock in the flesh, much less touched one. It was enthralling, from an academic standpoint of course, that the entirety slipped into an empty space of her own body. One that she never felt was empty.   
She was convinced that once that shaft slammed inside, she would never be whole without it.   
Her thumb swirled across the tip. Draco’s hands clenched on her body. His pressure into her grip increased. His hips swayed forward with each stroke. He pressed into her. She watched his eyes swim with lust and need and urge, feelings she was familiar with. Thanks to him.  
The tempo increased. His hips moved swiftly. In turn, she moved her hand up and down faster.  
The sudden emergence of a sound across the courtyard halted their actions. Her hand dropped his cock with a gasp.  
“Shit,” she hissed.  
He chuckled as he pulled his belt closed. She watched him guide his cock up to his beltline to avoid the awkward tent in his trousers. “Playtime’s over.”  
She nodded. “Yeah.” Godric, when did she get out of breath? “We should get to the feast before someone comes looking.”  
Her heart thrummed with excitement. The gentle caress of his fingers against her arm gave her a sudden ecstasy. An ache came to her breasts. The tips of her nipples fought so hard against her bra.   
Draco lingered close as they made their way back to the settling calm of the Great Hall. The empty corridors were darkened. Few torches were lit at the time of the feast. Not a soul wandered their halls. Except them. “I see you didn’t snap your leg on holiday.”  
Desire gone. A body devoid of sensation jolted clear thoughts to her mind.  
That sped her pulse back up to panic. Her holiday was skiing and that’s all he knew. He’d be irate if he discovered the truth.  
“I told you I’m a talented skier,” she answered.  
“I researched this activity,” Draco revealed. “It can be quite dangerous.”  
Did he just say research? A muggle topic that a Malfoy was interested in. Hell must be very cold indeed.  
“I’m quite aware.” Her eyes fell to the floor.  
“I might have preferred a Weasley holiday in that shack had I known the risk of this sport of skiing.”  
Funny he should say so…  
Crabbe and Goyle appeared at the end of the corridor just outside the Great Hall. They searched for Draco. Their bodies shifted one way then another. Crabbe kept looking back inside the room.   
Hermione glanced to Draco. He rolled his eyes.  
“They’re just hungry,” he explained.  
They were not in a cheerful mood to greet her. It was the briefest acknowledgement of her from them, who once hated her with a passion. They moved like two little children whom needed to use the loo. Goyle shifted, more than once. Crabbe did a giddy little dance.   
“Looks like they’re ready to go.”  
Draco closely regarded her. “Find me later.”  
Later.  
What would happen later?  
She was glad that she asked her mum for birth control on holiday. They’d gone to her general practitioner just two days before to discuss what kind she would like. Hermione had no qualms about the pill. She was responsible enough to take on every day. It was no bother.  
Of course, hiding it from her magical friends was the challenge. As it was in the muggle world, the knowledge of a girl on birth control spread like wildfire. It welcomed many stereotypes that were inaccurate and unflattering.  
Hermione kept the pills buried within her trunk. Right when she arose in the morning before another in her dorm ever dared stir, she dug through to find the supply as quiet as could be managed. They would only give her three months’ worth. Her mum would send them with an owl so that there was no lapse in her coverage.  
It was a thankful blessing that her mum had discussed sex in the early years of Hermione’s boarding school experience. Her mum opened a channel of communication. It made her feel comfortable enough to ask when she needed them.  
Still, it was possible that the asking is what led her mother to assume there was a handsome boy in her life worth embarrassing her over.   
With Draco, Hermione lost all willpower to resist. That was a slippery slope of trust. It was only responsible to protect herself when her body could not.   
Ginny, once, expressed an interest for some because Hermione told her that it eliminated many painful menstrual side effects that Ginny suffered from once a month with a vengeance. Molly was so bothered. She flew into a fit about the natural order of the body. It was wrong to prevent children if that is what was destined.   
Birth control was a hushed product within the magical community. It was even more so within the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley hated it. She refused to allow her daughter to spend her time laid beneath wizards if there was no outcome of it.  
It was the reason that prevented Hermione from revealing to Ginny that she was taking it. What if it was mentioned to Mrs. Weasley? How would she react? Would she believe Hermione a harlot?  
The feast carried on in jolly spirits. Nothing horrific happened over the course of holiday, and that was worth celebrating.   
Hermione stole away many moments to gaze at the Slytherin table. She missed their conversation. It was a comforting slough of voices that were the background of many times with Draco.   
He, Draco Malfoy, laughed with his house mates. They joked. Smiles upon their faces very obvious. Even Slytherin changed at the start of term. They missed their friends. Just as the same as the rest of the castle.  
Harry was quiet during the feast. His eyes drifted over to Hermione more than once.   
She put forth a great effort to ignore him, or to seem as though she ignored him. It was not her turn to apologize. She was not in the wrong. Harry was her friend, not a god in which she worshipped. His say only went so far when it came to things.  
For a boy who hated being The-Boy-Who-Lived, he certainly loved the fact that most everyone listened to his every word like gospel. Apart from this year where the question of his credibility was called.   
That was not her fault. She believed him. Cedric Diggory was killed by Lord Voldemort. Harry saw him rise from molten goo that gave him life, suddenly with renewed body to serve his purpose. She knew he was back. She supported him. It was her time that was spent defending his name in the mouths of others who doubted.   
Hermione buttered her rolls. She chatted happily with Ron and Ginny and Neville. There were big smiles as everyone joined for a back-to-term celebration. Neville’s anxiety wore off. He was far more talkative than she was accustomed.   
It was the honesty, she believed, that changed Neville. There was no big secret. He didn’t hide his shame from all his house mates. They all knew what happened of his parents. They met them both. The Longbottoms.   
Harry and Ron sat on their usual side of the table. Hermione across from them with Ginny at her side. Neville sat in the newly occupied seat to her left. The poor wizard was a bumbling mess at times. He spilled over Hermione’s water when he swung his arm.  
He blushed as he pulled out his wand to clean up the mess. “Sorry, Hermione. I really am.”  
“It is just a spot of water.” She shrugged. “There was no harm done.”  
Neville Longbottom was a tall, awkward boy with willowy limbs while his middle was filled in. His teeth were abnormally large. She sympathized with the self-conscious way he smiled small, without showing a tooth or how he fidgeted with things across his mouth so that he might prevent anyone from catching a glimpse.   
If it wasn’t so incredibly awkward, she’d offer to shrink them. It was not possible to be done on one’s self without the risk of rather devastating results.   
The last thing she wanted to do was insult the poor thing. He was already a jumble of nerves as it was. His newly settled nature was still to set.   
“I learned about a fascinating flower recently. Used in the days of Merlin. Used by him himself, actually.”  
That was a cue for the rest of the group to stop listening. Neville went on for hours about plants. It was his thing. He loved Herbology. It was the one thing he talked about quite commonly.   
“You know before holiday when somebody cursed the library - .”  
“I beg your pardon?” Hermione exclaimed.  
Thoughts went to her favorite books. Were they damaged? Was it going to be open this term? Why hadn’t anyone notified her?!  
Ron was just as shocked. “Who would curse the library right before holiday? That’s the worst time. Why can’t it be cursed before exams?”  
She frowned.   
“Was the strangest thing, yeah,” Neville started. “A section of books, all about Merlin and King Arthur and the like just flew off the shelves. They swirled around the library. Broke out some of the doors, too. The corridors were filled with flapping flying books. You should have seen Malfoy running through the halls. The books just wouldn’t stop. Not even for a shield.”  
The Gryffindor table laughed. All except Hermione. She was not pleased to hear such news.  
It explained why Draco had been late for the train. It was the only explanation as to why she hadn’t seen it.   
“Curious.” Her lips moved without much thought. “Why would someone do that?”  
Ron still laughed. “Because it’s funny, that’s why. I’ll bet Malfoy got a nice bunch of paper cuts.”  
“It’s not very original.”  
He gave her a baffled look. “When’s the last time you heard someone pranked with a book? Cant. Nobody pranks with a book. It’s brilliant.”  
Her eyes flashed to the blonde across the tables. The fact that he’d made someone angry enough to curse him was not surprising. He was still Draco Malfoy, king of spoiled prats. However, the bizarre way it occurred had her baffled at what type of message it sent.  
The table fell into a quiet as they fantasized about Draco’s demise to a stack of library books, each with glittery eyes of a daydream.   
“I found it in one of those books,” Neville said softly.  
He was met with a wash of confused eyes. Their colors from blue, to green, to brown.  
His cheeks flushed red. “The flower. The flower Merlin used. I found it in one of the books when it dropped to the floor. Thought it might be interesting to study. Morgana was said to love the flower. It was her favorite. She kept it lined at every door.”  
“What’s that, Neville?” Ginny asked before she tucked into a spoonful of pudding.  
“She thought it made liars honest.” He shrugged. “Morgana hated the corrupt and the liars. It was said that was the source of her power. That was the corrupt controllers would fear her, the banished and outcast would rise again. There is much speculation as to what she believed as banished and outcast. It’s all lost to history. But the flower. That’s where things get really interesting.”  
Neville then dove headfirst into a speech on the ancient flower. It was used in medieval times as a makeshift Veritserum potion, as people believed it forced the truth to be told, until the actual potion was developed for widespread use. It was woven in much lore about the times of Merlin. Most was impossible to be confirmed because of the age.  
Hermione found her mind fading in and out of interest as he spoke. She wished she could muster some false appeal to the plant, but truly, she did not care.  
Through the mist of her lingering thoughts of Draco in the courtyard and the moisture in her knickers, Harry’s voice blared through as his lips moved in exaggerated motion. Her ears stopped replaying Draco’s grunts and growls in her mind. Harry’s words suddenly rang clear.  
“I think we should call a meeting for tomorrow,” he said.  
“So soon.” Hermione said in a hollow voice. If she knew Draco, and she was certain she did, he would want to spend time with her tomorrow. He’d already snogged her upon arrival. What were the chances he’d allow her to disappear away with her friends? “Harry, Umbridge is bound to be watching. She’ll expect it.”  
“You’d rather have us wait around until it was suitable for her?” Harry questioned incredulously.   
Of course, he was still peeved about the train. She was too.   
It did not change the truth of their illegal school club. If they were caught, they’d all be punished. Harry would likely be expelled. She stood a good chance of the fact, as well, being a co-conspirator.   
Hermione looked to Ron for support. Her eyes grew firm.  
The shift in his seat said he read the message, but the glance over to his side where his best friend sat did not convince her that he was on board with her plan.  
“Blimey, Harry. I need a moment to get used to classes again before we start meetin’.” He shook his hand through his long red hair. “Used to sleepin’ and eatin’ on holiday, you know.”  
It was a logical excuse. One she wished she’d thought of.   
Harry settled. His nerves flared at the idea of postponing when Hermione mentioned it, but Ronald had calmed him. She took that a bit personal. It hurt. Once she was the one he confided in rather than Ron. It was only last year that they quarreled to the point of refusing to speak to one another. Hermione held them together!  
She glared with bitter feelings as he elected to wait until after classes started.   
The prideful wizard was shoved so far up his own arse that he could not see reason!   
Hermione was not going to sit there and take it. Not from him. She swung her legs over the bench. Her friends watched in confusion as she stood.  
Ginny grabbed her forearm in a loose hold. “Where are you going?”  
“Believe it or not, I’ve got a better place to be,” she spat. Her eyes flared directly at Harry.  
It was not often that she let her temper get the better of her. Not when it came to her best friend, whom she loved dearly and understood better than most. It was difficult to be questioned. Even more so, she was sensitive when his loyalty waivered. Her loyalty was deep. She’d give her life for him. There was a doubt in her mind that he would do the same for her.  
The Great Hall was crowded. It was filled. Almost every seat in the room was taken. Students in their casual dress ate and sang and laughed and talked. Some, intermixed. Ravenclaws and Gryffindor were speckled throughout the room in each other’s places. Huffles bled their way in, little by little.   
Sadly none made their way to Slytherin. It was an entire table filled of the same house.   
Terrence Higgs flashed through to her mind when he spoke of the tension between the houses. It wasn’t always so obvious. Current tensions made things worse. And Draco. Draco made contention between the houses significant. His constant bullying left many scared of all the Slytherins – even most Slytherins were not comfortable around him.   
It was made worse by the fact he was a Prefect. She expected this year to be about complete abuse of power for him. Prefects were in the power to assign detention and admonish and also, most importantly, deduct house points.   
The fact that Pansy and Draco were made Prefects together only sealed the assumption that the power of the house cup might rest in the pair’s hands. They were a deadly combination. Usually.  
Fifth year turned in a different direction once Draco took her as his pet. His attentions all turned to her. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d even teased a first year or hexed someone without cause. It took all his patience to control her life. It left time for little else.   
Hermione felt proud. She was the one to bring sanity back to Hogwarts. With Draco Malfoy obsessed about her, she prevented loss of points and traumatizing bullying from reaching the students. What a positive! She’d never considered the thought before. It was just a fact that she acknowledged but hadn’t considered as an outcome from their relationship.  
She glided up to his section of the table with a softened glow about her. The pride should be hidden so as he wouldn’t come to realize just how he’d changed for her. Then there was the chance to switch back to his abusive ways.  
Draco’s eyes landed on her with surprise. It was the first time she came to his table by choice, without being hustled over by Crabbe and Goyle. They were too busy in their meal to notice. She took the open seat by his side without a word. The only one moved by the action was the Slytherin Prince himself as the others were accustomed to her presence within their realm. They no longer held their tongues. She suspected most forgot she was there.  
“Pet,” he greeted.  
She smiled softly as she reached for a pot of tea. Her hands lifted the lightened pot from its rest to pour the rest of the steaming tea into her cup. A few drips of milk were added in.  
Daphne was situated down a few seats, but she made sure to acknowledge Hermione with a friendly wave. She was seated next to Pansy and Millicent. There was little pleasure in her features as Pansy’s mouth flapped incessantly, no doubt about something lurid.   
There was not much said between the pair during their meal. It was content. Not forced.   
After the feast finished, the houses were dismissed to their common rooms for bed. It was late that the first feast of term ended. There was nothing opened within the castle, like the Library or the Pitch.   
Draco walked with her through the corridors with what little time was left before curfew. Crabbe and Goyle walked behind. They were more like his pet than she. They barked when instructed. Though, she was not sure if they were toilet trained just yet.  
“Are you certain you’re a muggleborn?” Draco asked abruptly.  
Hermione was rather taken aback. Her pace paused.  
“Yes, of course I’m certain. Why ever do you ask?”  
“Your parents.”  
“What about them?”  
“There are a number of characteristics that they have that you do not share.” Draco shrugged. “It is obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes. How can you not detect such a blaring truth?”  
The sound of the corridors was winding down to softer, hushed tones. Few still lingered outside their houses.   
She was hesitant to ask. “What blaring truth?”  
“You’re adopted, pet.”  
How he arrived at that conclusion baffled her. Adopted? She was not. Hermione was the personification of her father. They were the exact replica of one another: curly brown hair, large teeth (she only had them shrank after an incident with Draco), slender and rather short.  
No, she was convinced. Her parents were her parents.  
If she’d had any qualms about her parentage, her mum was able to whip out an old VHS tape recording of Hermione’s birth for good measure. Scarring for ten year old to see a woman in that position for the sake of sexual education. It may have been the human body, but it was not true to its description as one of the beauties of nature.   
“What makes you think that?”  
“I don’t think that. I know. There is no chance that those people are your parents.”  
Hermione was blown away by this. By his interest, that was. “Why does it matter if I am or not?”  
Crabbe and Goyle descended down the stairs. It was were the Slytherin dormitory lived. Gryffindor Tower was upward. This was the place that they were expected to part.   
Draco, of course, lingered longer than his two henchmen. His hand rested on the railing beside her. She was two steps higher than him. They, the only two behind their classmates. The emptiness echoed the last sounding steps as the Winding Staircase fell to silence. Creeping cold filtered in through the air. The night was pitch black.   
There rose a strange strength in him. Something she hadn’t noticed before term end.   
“Your blood, pet. Don’t forget about your blood,” he said softly. “There may come a time when it will be all that matters. And you might not be one of them after all. If you were adopted by muggles but descended from wizards, your blood status would not be of a muggleborns. It would be a half-blood. Maybe even full.” He ran a hand through his hair. His eyes shifted around the corridor, as if uncertain they were alone.  
Tension built in Hermione’s tissues. Her heart leapt to a full jig.   
There was truth written in his face that made the darkest thoughts jump to the light. She knew that he knew Voldemort was alive. It was only by chance that she believed he’d seen the Dark Lord, but now she was thoroughly convinced the Malfoy’s were deeper in the ranks than she previously believed.  
It was quite possible that Draco saw the demon on holiday. At his home. Where word of her might have reached their ears. The fact his parents knew made it all more real. There were ears all over the castle that leeched back to unknown sources. One of them, Voldemort.   
“What are you saying, Draco?” Her teeth nibbled upon her bottom lip.   
It was agony. Pure agony to see the truth rise up through his face like a wave ready to spill its contents upon the floor and then retreat away in a split moment.   
He shook the words out of his mouth. “Nothing. Just…just learn to listen to what I say, pet. I’ll be keeping a sharper eye on you this term.”  
And with that, he plunged into the descending stair.   
She trudged up the flight of stairs with a rock within her belly. It weighed down her thoughts. All she concerned herself with was the frightening way that Draco was able to scare her without saying a thing. It was the implication. Nothing was for certain. Did he ever see Voldemort? Draco never said so. There was the assumption since he did not rebuke Harry’s stance. Cedric Diggory’s death was wildly disputed by the entire castle. One person who never spoke against Harry’s version was Draco Malfoy, the one wizard who opposed everything Harry said just because Harry said it.  
Her palms grinded into her eye sockets. “Ugh.”  
“There you are.” A voice emerged in the corridor. “Ron’s been looking everywhere.”  
“What for?” Hermione asked as she allowed Ginny to grab hold of her hand and tug her down toward the portrait.  
The witch muttered the password for Gryffindor Tower before she turned back to Hermione and said, “Did you forget about patrol? He wanted to get a move on so that he might get some sleep tonight.”  
Oh, right.  
Ron and she were on patrol. Alone. In the dark.  
Why hadn’t she mentioned it to Draco? He was going to throw a fit if he found it out!  
Yet another thing she had to keep straight if she wanted things calm between them.  
The night was frigid. Winter winds pushed through the ancient walls, seeped in through the cracks, and dissipated into the air of the castle. Hermione wore the thick black jumper Draco had given her, school robes and a scarf just to stop the onslaught of shivers.   
Ron slipped one knitted jumper overtop his head. One. He hadn’t a hat nor mittens.   
“You do realize it is January, Ronald. Do you not?”  
The wizard simply shrugged. “’snot that cold, Mione. Perhaps you’ve just got thin skin.”  
“I’ve the same three layers of skin that you have got. Besides, you can’t claim that blistering cold is just a manner of perspective. It is winter. It’s supposed to be cold.”  
They decided to start on their floor and work the way down. The upper levels of the castle remained warmer than the lower ones. It helped Hermione acclimate to the frigid temperature.   
Hogwarts was a brilliant place of light during the height of day. But at night. It was eerie. Filled with memories, good and bad, that lurked around every corner. Shadows grew nightmares out of vision. Whispers of breath followed a turned back. Distant howls reverberated.   
Hermione and Ron both held their wand in front of their faces as they scanned each section. Every nook where a student might snog. Hidden alcoves were the favorite places of those whom sneaked puffs off a cigarette. Once there was a party after hours. Hermione had not been the patrol to break it up, but the outrageous idea of holding a party out in the abandoned castle was too shocking to forget that she almost considered it for the DA.  
Patrol was thick at night. It was too much of a risk with the high probability of being caught. It was easier to hide in plain sight during daylight.  
“You alright there, Mione?”  
“Yes.”  
“You know Harry is just tired. He never sleeps. Always dreams about Cedric and the graveyard.”  
“I know,” she echoed in a hollow voice. It didn’t sound like her.  
Ron sighed. “He just feels it, you know. He says there is a divide. It’s tearing us apart.”  
She knew what divide was between them. It was the only one that mattered to Harry Potter.   
“If he just stopped insisting on Draco being the reason, the divide might not happen at all.”  
“Come on. Don’t talk like that.” Ron frowned. His red lips sloped down in exaggerated length. “There is no divide. You’re one of us. Always will be.”  
The topic was dropped.  
Neither liked to discuss what was happening. They were being pulled their separate ways even with the same allegiances. The world required different paths. And it hurt like hell to be pulled from her friends. Harry was her best friend. Ronald was her confidant. Ginny was the first girl friend she had. They were all the best she could have hoped for at the entrance of Hogwarts. She met the very people she would lay down her life for at age eleven. That was how deep they bonded.  
Draco Malfoy changed all that.   
The truth behind his motivations remained unclear. Ginny believed it was lust and male domination and jealousy that motivated him to control her. There was plenty of evidence to support the theory. Still, there was the fact that he was not consistent. The warnings between the words that he said convinced her otherwise.   
But the more she thought on it, the more difficult the idea became.  
Why would Draco Malfoy risk his life for her? Their friendship guaranteed him beneath a microscope. His actions were undoubtedly watched. For a silly game of torture the mudblood, it was not worth it.  
Even if he did love her – why would he risk his own life?  
It made no sense.   
Hermione concluded that it was an effort to protect her. The attempt to ‘tame’ her as he coined it was the way to appeal to Death Eaters that she might not be as dangerous or loyal as they thought. If Draco, her longtime enemy, was able to control her, her life might be spared the curse of death.   
“You’ll always believe me, won’t you, Ronald? Even if the whole world says different, you would trust me.”  
He gave her a curious glance. “The whole world says Voldemort is dead. Doesn’t mean he is, does it? Just means that they’re too scared to believe the truth.”  
It did little to help her nerves.   
“But what about me? Would you believe me?”  
Ron stopped. His blue eyes met hers. The desperation within her must have bene palpable. He put a hand on her shoulder. “You and Harry are the only ones I’ll always believe in. No matter what.”  
She could have cried. She wanted to.   
What had she done to deserve a best friend like him?   
Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re my best friend, Ronald. You really are.”  
He flushed a bright red and shrugged off the embrace with a bit of jumbled words. It made her smile.   
They descended the Grand Staircase for the next round of patrol. It was a large expanse of the castle. So many places for rulebreakers to hide. As the two Gryffindor Prefects accustomed to patrol together, they had a routine. Ronald took one wing. Hermione took the other. They covered twice the ground. It helped them return to bed sooner, which was all Ron cared about because he needed as much sleep as possible to be functional.   
“See you.” He waved as he walked down another flight of stairs.   
Hermione was left alone on the fifth floor. Bright light poured out of the end of her wand. It penetrated the pitch black of the castle. Torches lit aflame as she neared their realm. Their charm only worked when someone approached near.  
She walked by. Torch after torch lit itself and extinguished as she passed.  
The castle was silent. Still. There was only the faint scent of smoke from previous lit fires. It still had that grit of ash in the air. Small particles lingered dense enough that it coated her tongue as she breathed.  
“Bullocks.” The light of her wand dropped as she vanquished the air. Bitter ash was not a delicious taste.  
Before she was able to summon another light for the end of her wand, a single torch at the end of the corridor ignited alive. Her eyes absorbed the ring of flame. There was no one there within the torches area.   
She started forward. The torch doused itself.   
If it was Fred and George out of bed setting traps for their childish pranks, she was going to scream.  
Hermione rounded the corner. Nothing but darkness split through. Then, at the sudden end of the next corridor, another torch ignited. Still, there was no one below to show for it.  
She dashed off after it, determined to catch whoever thought it was fun to sprint through the castle after hours like some dementor and deduct their house points. Her shoes slapped against the floors. The length of her hair, the one time she opted for her hair down, bounced against her back. It was sure to be tangled by the end of it.  
Another torch lit halfway down. It was behind the statue of Boris.   
The Prefect Bath. Of course.   
She brandished her wand ready to control the situation when a bit of something caught her eye. At the base, between Boris’ legs was a fluffy brown tail flickering back and forth. The long caramel and chocolate hairs belonged only to one.  
“Khalessi,” Hermione chastised. “You naughty girl. Were you the one running these corrdiors? I thought you were a student.”  
The cat emerged. Her body swayed, in a way that a cats did in comfort, as she approached. She swatted her hand at Hermione.   
She kneeled down and elected to give the cat a scratch. “Oh, well. What can I expect? I know your master.”  
The door of the loo creaked open. Out strode the one and only.   
“Finally.” His arms went up in the air. “Why does it take you and that Weasel so long to do anything? One would think you were stopping off to snog somewhere.”  
Her jaw dropped. “What are you doing? It is past curfew.”  
“My pet has patrol which means I’ve got patrol,” he stated, then sneered. “I might have expected her to tell me herself that she had patrol with the Weasel but what can I expect?”  
“Draco, I really meant to say something.”  
“When? It’s not like we spent all evening together with plenty of opportunity.”  
She frowned. “I’m sorry.”  
It seemed to settle him. His shoulders relaxed in their sockets.   
He shoved his hand into his pocket. “Will you ever learn to listen?” He asked with a sigh.  
Hermione risked touching his arm. “I’ve gotten better, don’t you think? I wrote everyday just like you asked.”  
He thought for a moment.  
His scent overtook her senses. She breathed it in. It only happened when she was close to his body, the heat and the smell of his cologne created something powerful. Like a haze. Her mind relished the sensation of it inside her lungs.   
“You never mentioned if you met any wizards on holiday.”  
She pursed her lips together. “I think you know the answer to that.”  
His hand, without thought, wrapped around her shoulders. It pulled her close to his body in an awkward side-hug position. “What a shame. I met scores of witches on holiday.”  
The comment had her floored.  
She dipped out of his hold and brought a hand between their bodies to hold him away from her. “I beg your pardon?”  
A wicked smirk overtook his mouth. There was devilish delight in his eyes. They danced around her face with comfort as she steamed. No, not steamed. Boiled. Frothed.   
“Just checking,” he said.   
Hermione pushed his chest away with all her strength.   
“You arse!”  
She stormed away from him. That joke was so far past the line. All that she gave up for him and he was toying with her?   
He followed after her, smile set so far in his features it was impossible to see the end of his delight. “Oh. Come now, pet.”  
“You complete wanker!”  
“Oh, yeah? Does it make you angry?”  
The sneer made her even more furious.  
“You know it does!”  
“Show me,” he said. “Show me how angry.”  
All at once, she felt herself buried against his chest, lips smashed against his in a furious kiss. Their teeth clashed. Her hands pulled at his hair. The savage ripping of her robes told his own frustration as he scoured through their many folds to the opening.   
Hermione felt her anger develop into something else. Her lips filled with need. She couldn’t stop for a moment. He, too, pulled her so tight against his chest that it felt as though they shared the same ribs.   
“Does it frustrate you that I can do whatever I want?” He growled.   
Her thighs shuddered. The deep burn of his voice resonated deeper within her body.   
The response was instantaneous.  
His taste was too sweet to lose. She nodded. Tongue, delved into the soft flesh of his mouth.  
He retracted and nuzzled his lips against her ear. “Say it.”  
“Yes.” She breathed. “I hate it.”  
“I bet you do.” He smiled as he took her mouth with his once more. It was his tongue that took lead.   
She ran her fingers round the base of his neck. His collar fought for dominance, but she thrust her touch beneath it. The tendons of his throat were taut. The throb of his aorta was easy to feel amongst his flesh. It bumped along rather quickly. Her heart matched a similar beat as both of his hands gripped her arse and pulled her upward.   
Every part of their bodies were roughly pushed and shoved together, in discomfort and pure pleasure. Their anger bled into the other through touch. Her fingertips fed the source to him, he fed it back.   
It was inevitable that a moan would escape. The flutters of her body were too much. Her throat ruptured the quiet with her breathy moan.   
Draco’s eyes absorbed every ounce of her pleasure as it washed across her face. He noticed it all. Her lips, her throat, her eyes.   
“You like being my pet, don’t you?”  
The question was rather surprising. Even in the light of what they were doing.   
“Only when you’ve got one,” she replied.  
He smirked. “Clever girl.”


	20. Chapter 20

### CHAPTER 20

#### Becoming Flexible

_I did not ask of what you wished for, Draco. I am your father. Not your friend. This witch is the one with whom you are promised to. Mudblood pet or not, I do expect you to follow through on the arrangement. It is the best interest of this family to have a pure match aligned. Your games have captured the intense interest of our Lord. The success of your venture, I fear, will determine our fate. It is best to distance yourself from the likes of mudbloods and half-breeds to intermingle amongst your own people.  
Please, son. Consider what is best for you.  
Your father. _

Draco raced through the sky. The wind grasped at his flesh, his cheeks, his eyes as he pushed faster and faster through. Ice leeched in through his grasp. He was frozen to his broom. A sharp burn started at the back of his throat, followed all the way down to a pair of equally burning lungs.   
He had received the letter only three days after the start of term. His father doubted him.  
It burned to have that dark wizard rule over his life. Draco was in the power. He was gifted the choice of anything in the world. What he found was that he wanted a pet like Granger. He was not for contracts and courtship. The thing he liked was the way she was there out of her will, grasped in his. Her breath caught when he came close. It was fear and thrill all laced into one common drug that he devoured.   
His need. His feed.   
One common pureblood witch would not change his desires. Honorable or not. Stunning or not. There was little fire that he found himself attracted to that was not at the end of a Gryffindor’s tongue, one that was so easily snatched out of her mouth if he did not like it.  
The fresh air was supposed to calm his spirits. He needed to gain control. It was his duty to honor the wishes of his elder.   
No matter how much he did not want to. He would. Because it was a Malfoy’s responsibility.   
The broom brought him down to the edge of the castle. Its relief somewhere up higher in the clouds, higher than he wanted to go. His feet dropped to the steady ground. Their want to run to her side was drowned by his duty.   
Draco rubbed the broom shaft with oil, cleaned and tended to the bristles, shined the footrests before it was placed away. It was perfection. Neatly placed in his closet along with all the other aspects of his belongings, arranged in neat rows, organized, and spaced in three centimeter sections to prevent overcrowding of the fabrics.  
A creeping ache crawled up the side of his face. He relaxed his jaw.   
He took his time to assemble his outerwear. It was a ritual. Each movement a delicate action that was done time after time. The laying of his trousers and suit coat, the delicate handling of his button-up shirt. Tie. Socks. Shoes. There were all placed atop his school-issued comforter of silver. The enchanted stitching of a snake moved through the threads as he added to the collection. Cufflinks.   
The time spent focused upon his attire made it easier to set the emotions aside. The dark box of his feelings was chained and sank to the deepest depths of his psyche. He willed it all out of his current position. There was no choice. His honor demanded more of him.   
Draco took his time. He placed every item just so. The end of his wand textured his hair. He ran his hands through to shape their body. He’d liked the shorter fade on the sides. It was a more modern style than his father preferred.   
It was not his father tasked with maintaining it so what did it matter?   
He preferred the sleek look. It matched his clean image.   
The reflection looked very much like who he always saw: legendary, ruthless, exclusive, heir. The reflections of late did not relate the being within. Instead, the shell of which he adorned was worn with delicately painted features of others. Their expectations, their words, their threats. He was not what he displayed. That was clear as day. Still, the weight of all that which was painted upon his flesh sank him to their very depths.  
There was no path left for him now. No path to diverge, to take a road less traveled.   
Engagement. Enslavement.   
It was the tradition that he would do without once he bore his own heirs. The point of their status was to be above what was expected. Arranged marriages were for peasants where the only thing that mattered was the benefit.   
He belonged to another breed. It was impossible for a Malfoy to become poor. Their wealth overflowed. Vaults in many countries, various alias’, scattered properties. Their lineage dated back to time immemorial. There was no end to their reach.  
Why was he bound to rules that did not apply? Why was he to be entangled in a choiceless situation?   
Draco ascended from the boys sleeping quarters into the Slytherin Common Room. It was sparse. A few third-year students had their books around them as if in the center of a summoning circle in the search for answers. Blaise Zabini was there, too. Silent, as always. He watched Draco with profound interest that bored him. The wizard had backed off of Hermione. That was all he cared about.  
He waltzed through on the way to the enchanted corridor wall to find his way back to his pet, when the soft hum of a voice entered his head. He turned on toe. The one hand in his pocket held a fist. It was hours since he saw Hermione. Time apart. Her apart in unknown places set his jaw back on edge.   
“What?”  
Daphne crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “Can I have a word with you?”  
“I have places to be.”  
Crabbe and Goyle better be with her. If they weren’t, if she roamed unchecked…  
There was a definite determination etched in Daphne’s features. Her eyes fierce and unforgiving as they viewed him.   
“It will only take a moment,” she answered in a bit of forced civility.  
Her face was crowded with a pair of too large, thick rimmed glasses. The sharp chill of her blue eyes did little to pierce his flesh. He was ice-cold. Frozen solid. There was little she could do that would threaten a wizard like him.  
A pawn had no emotion. They were used without thought. He was used by his father’s reaching hand, a strike to his personal pride, that he was not asked.   
His father was above reproach. Mother, on the other hand, was not. She would receive a letter of his distaste rather soon.  
Draco turned his eyes to narrow slits as they gained each other’s audience. “This better be important. I’ve got things to tend to.”  
“I know what you’ve got to tend to, Draco.” Daphne spoke through gritted teeth. “Believe it or not, it’s where I take issue.”  
“Like I give a rat’s arse where you take issue. Granger’s her own witch. If she didn’t like it,” which would be an obvious lie, “she has the power to say.”  
Not that he would listen.   
Hermione Granger craved him just as he craved her. Any effort made to the contrary was a fallacy founded in divisive opinion of others. He’d hunt down anyone who would convince her she was better suited elsewhere.   
“Not everything is about Hermione!” Daphne suddenly hissed. “I’m talking about my sister. Tori. The one with whom you’ve started a courtship with. That witch. The other one with whom you’ve chosen to carry on with.”  
His blood turned cold.  
The frozen icy waters of the Black Lake sloshed against the glass windows of the common room. Their noise was a constant. It drowned out the rolling murmur of voices throughout the room. It was by lucky chance that it had covered the shrill pitch of Daphne’s voice. Someone might have heard.  
That was information he did not want known.  
Draco gripped Daphne’s arm tight and pulled her farther away from the listening ears of their fellow House mates. “I’ll encourage you to lower your tone.”  
She turned blaring red. Her eyes bulged, focused upon his grip on her arm.  
If she expected that to deter him, she misjudged him greatly.  
“Get your hand off of me!”  
The knuckles of his left hand turned white as it stayed in place against her bicep. “Not until you’ve listened to what I have to say.”  
“No. I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to grow some bullocks. You’re going to write your father and tell him the truth. Tell him just what this pet is to you and leave my sister out of your Malfoy family bullshit.”  
Her emotions were not his concern. Daphne’s fit held nothing in interest of value to him.  
“I’m done here.”  
Draco tried to move past. Daphne was stronger than she looked. Her grasp wrinkled the smooth finish of his suit. He looked down with a scowl.   
“Do you know how much this cost?”  
“Do you know how little I give a bloody fuck about your suit, Draco?”   
Hours had past since he spoke with Hermione. Crabbe and Goyle hadn’t seen her before he went for a fly. Her extended absence left a quaking void in his mind as to her whereabouts. He needed to find her. It was likely that she was being fluffed by another wizard.  
The surge of his pulse vibrated throughout his ears. He felt a tightening in his flesh.  
“Tell me you won’t court my sister. It isn’t right.”  
He ran a hand through his perfectly style hair. The hairs released from their stiff style. “What makes you think I want this, Daphne? Hm? Don’t exactly look willing, do I?”  
“Well neither is she.”  
Leaves of sage were tossed into the flames of the common room. Fresh fumes of the burned leaves spread through the air.   
It was a purist tradition. Sage was associated with prim parlors in medieval times when the air was fouled with the stench of filth and vermin. Piss and plague the only scent of the world. Wizards burned sage in their air as a filter. It was a common scent for any pureblood. Estates like those of Slytherin alumni were ones that stood for centuries, traditions of historic importance, a reminder of who they were, a breed apart, to the peasants outside.   
Them versus the rest.   
Draco and Daphne were conditioned to respond to the smell. It brought back thoughts of home. Serenity clouded their minds. Nostalgia of their childhoods blocked the foul bitterness that often tainted their tongues, foul words to be said.  
Her hold on his sleeve loosened. “I think you should tell Tori the truth. On your ridiculous date on Valentines Day. Explain it clearly. Not like an arse. You’ll have to restrain yourself.”  
“Me?”  
She took a long blink. “Yes, you.”  
“One cannot overlook the closeness of a sister to sister. Save the time and tell her yourself.”   
His patience was wearing thinner by the minute. Sage did not dilute all thought. His concern for his pet reigned over those of minute consequence.   
It was not his choice. Astoria Greengrass was not by his say. What did she matter?  
“I promised not to intervene,” she sighed.  
Draco’s brows sank. “This is you not intervening?”  
She flashed a wrinkled nose with a nasty lip curl. “She’s my little sister. She isn’t versed in the ways of wizards like you. Salazar willing, she never will be.”  
His pet would not like his courtship. If he could find a way to prevent the discovery of such an agreement until it was dealt with, Hermione would be none the wiser. Therein lied the rub. She was smart. The dim-witted witches in Hogwarts were no match to what that witch was able to deduce from a look. His absence on Valentines Day was to be noticed by her.   
Moreover, the tension of her being available upon a day meant for romance rose.   
Neither option was very comfortable.   
He stepped forward. “Don’t tell Granger,” he whispered.  
“You do realize whom you’re talking about, don’t you?” She deadpanned.  
“Oh! Save the fabricated sisterhood story for someone who might believe it. I know the lengths of a friendship. They don’t stretch far.”  
“Hey!” She hissed. “I have been a champion for you as far as Hermione is concerned. Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness, Draco. Be kind to my sister. Be fair. Or you’ll regret it.”  
** ** **  
Harry did not wait long to call a DA meeting. Hermione was notified through her enchanted coin. It gave her little time to slip away from Draco’s side. It’d taken faking illness to have Goyle and Crabbe deposit her at Gryffindor Tower. She knew well enough they’d wait ten minutes before returning to their activities.   
She sneaked out of the Tower using Ginny as lookout. The red head waved her arm through the portrait hole that it was all clear.  
Hermione hopped out. “Thank Godric. I thought we’d be late.”  
The witches slipped through empty corridors. They avoided all people, even friends. More than once, they rounded corners to avoid a group of wandering students.   
“Why are there so many people in the castle now?” Ginny groaned as they yet again ducked away. “Last term we never had to do this much.”  
“It’s winter, Gin. There is nothing to do outside.”  
They were well on their way to the Room of Requirement when a group of Slytherin girls led by the black demoness of Slytherin herself walked by. Hermione was at a loss. Pansy reported everything back to Draco’s ear. The witch hated Hermione with a great passion. She’d do anything to have his pet punished.   
In a panic, Hermione pulled Ginny’s hair into a shadowy niche in the wall.   
“Ow!” The witch held her head. “What was that for?”  
“That was Pansy. If she sees me out, she’ll tell Draco.”  
The carrying sound of Pansy Parkinson’s voice was nauseating. If the witch whispered to Draco that Hermione was sneaking around with Ginny during a time that he assumed she was in Gryffindor Tower, he was bound to know it was for Harry. Then all she’d hear about was his hatred of Harry Potter and she’d never be let out of his sight again.  
Ginny watched on as Pansy passed. The awful high-pitch chortle that was from her own joke made the witch’s nose wrinkle.  
They were in the clear for the rest of the journey. The doors of the room appeared cut through the stone, elegantly carved and curved in metal iron. The opening was two stories above their heads. Doors fit for a castle threshold.   
The rest of the DA was gathered. Luna and Neville welcomed both of the girls to their conversation. The lesson started not long after. Harry became her center focus for the entire time. He was the teacher of the art of defense. Although they were at ends, he was still a fascinating study. There was no one better to learn from. Of that, she was convinced.  
It was a dueling day. Hermione’s most anxiously awaited time. She’d counted on using the spells against one another and when Harry explained that it was best done in practice on one another, she almost jumped for joy.   
Dennis Creevey was up first. He was one of the younger students of the group. Harry rolled through the motions of the spell in detail as Dennis copied each exact movement until Harry was satisfied it would do the trick. Then he chose Dennis’ partner: Lavender.   
She flitted her side ponytail over her shoulder, fluttered her eyes in their direction before she stepped across from Dennis. Hermione looked around. The only one near her was Ron. Had she been fluttering her eyelashes at Ron?   
Hermione watched on as Harry repeated the motions of the spell until Lavender performed it with fluidity, which was important in the deliverance of a spell. One wrong move, one wrong muttering could backfire with dire consequences.   
Ginny stood on the other side of the dueling platform. Her arms crossed as she watched. Michael, her dark-haired boyfriend from Ravenclaw, stood close by. His lips moved, barely noticeable. Ginny, then, flipped her hair and gave a soft smile. The witch’s blue eyes met Michael’s dark brown ones. An intensity grew between them beyond the notice of anyone.  
The spell was shot. Neither Michael nor Ginny noticed. Their eyes were locked together apart from the world with an unspoken, unbreakable language in their gaze. Hermione struggled to tear her eyes away from it.   
Something in her heart yearned for that, yet she knew that she had that already. It was not in public moments with all her friends near that she could express such her profound interest in him, but it was there all the same. In private, they were another couple. Filled with desire and heat. Draco was a wizard that she hated to love but loved all the same. He protected her. Cherished her with constant supervision and care. There were many times that they fought. They were Slytherin and Gryffindor, two stubborn students out of their comfort zone. Somehow, they orbited back into each other’s arms.   
Hermione knew in her heart that she would have to sacrifice a lot for Draco. It would not be easy. Her friends might hate her for it. They might call for her blood for what side she’d be forced to interact with. All Hermione knew was that her love with Draco was stronger, stronger than the pull of gravity.   
“Mione!” She heard echo.  
She pulled from her thoughts. Michael and Ginny obviously in notice of her attention. She tucked away a fallen curl.   
“Yeah?” She said.  
Ronald paused in his way to the end of the dueling space. “We’re up.”  
She nodded. Her feelings for Draco stowed away until it was safe to contemplate. The DA was not the place for Draco Malfoy…  
“Able to steel away, eh?”  
It was Ronald who surprised her after class. They were one of the few remaining in the Room of Requirement. The rest had filtered through in unobvious groups to not seem suspicious. She gave him a curious glance.  
“Didn’t think Draco would let you go,” he explained. “He’s been awful watchful lately. You never get far away from him.”  
She frowned. “I told him I wasn’t feeling well.”  
The lying never stopped. She hated herself for it.  
“And he didn’t offer to comfort you?” His pale brows pushed together. “Why, he should have brought you some meatballs like me mum makes. Those always make me feel better. I’d bring a whole crock full.”  
There was no depth of him that did not surprise her. Her mouth could not stop smiling.  
“Really, Ron? You’d do that for a friend that was sick?”  
“Sure I would. If it were like that between me and you, I’d bring you some meatballs and soups. Give your feet nice little rubs. Hug you until you fall asleep. Oh, and Sleeping Draughts. Those solve all problems.” Cho and Harry were in private conversation. It was no leap to know that Cho was Harry’s crush. Ron and Hermione knew to not wait up. They both exited the Room without their third friend. “I’d do anything to make certain you were comfortable. That’s what he should be doing.”  
“Something tells me that he would rather not fall ill, too.”  
“Aye. I suspect.”  
They walked through the halls in private company, if not for a little while longer. Time together was short. The world seemed to pull them apart.  
“Did you bring me anything while I was petrified?” She asked. “That’s like being sick, only worse.”  
Ron snorted. “I couldn’t bring meatballs then. I was only a second year. And they’d have rotted before you could eat them.”  
“Oh. Of course.”  
It was quiet for a moment. Neither knew what to say to that.  
“But. I did pick you flowers though. Harry and I put them on that little table so that if you woke up without us, you’d have known we was there, thinking of you.”  
For all his lack of finesse, Ron was a good wizard. His charm was innocent and comforting. It was clear that comfort was the main thing he’d offer in all struggles as it was the only thing his family might have had when times became tough.  
Why hadn’t she fallen in love with Ron Weasley?   
They both decided it was better to split before they were spotted together. She went back to Gryffindor Tower to study while Ron decided to gather in the Great Hall to attract attention to himself with the other Gryffindor boys over wizard chess sets. Draco would notice his entrance. It was best to remain in the Tower until suspicion was off them.  
Drogon was the first one to greet her in the common room. The flickering of his tail swayed back and forth like a clock’s tick. She snuggled her face against his.   
He and Hermione curled up beneath a good book to read the afternoon away. Drogon sat on her chest. She was forced to raise the book unnaturally high to see overtop his body. He purred with delight. More than once, he rubbed his face against the front of her jumper. It was the newest addition in Weasley family jumpers that she had acquired.   
Molly had been kind enough to knit Drogon one, too. He kept it on all of two minutes. It was shredded to pieces in his crate and tucked into the folds of his pillow where he slept every night.  
He was too odd to be bothered to ask. Drogon was full of quirks. Part of it was his enchantment. She guessed that the animal brain had few ways to adapt their human-like qualities in their animalistic routines and urges. So. He saved a ripped jumper to cuddle with.   
When she emerged from the Tower later that day, Crabbe and Goyle were posted nearby. She had grown accustomed of their presence. Crabbe waved as she approached. Neither really knew much about Draco’s plans. She was often met with ‘I don’t know’ as it was grumbled beneath their breath.  
“Anything new?” She asked them, fully aware that the chance of reply was minimal.  
Today was the day for surprises.   
“Draco went for a fly,” Goyle offered.   
Crabbe suddenly handed over a little napkin with a few biscuits on it. “You missed tea. Draco said these are your favorite. Though you might be peckish.”  
Hermione blinked twice. “These are for me?”  
Neither of the Slytherins thrived on too much emotion. They were suddenly uncomfortable, shifting about, as they stood there. She tried to reign in her visible gratitude in lieu of a very passive face, something they were accustomed to from Draco.  
“We’ve got to study Herbology.”  
“Brilliant,” she said. It was a delightful for a change of pace. “Library?”  
Crabbe and Goyle found a secluded table in the library. It was out of vision of the librarian’s desk. Wax of long candles trickled down the length of their holders on the walls, the only source of light there was in the dim of isolation. There were heaps of books set upon edges of forgotten shelves. Smokey air filled her breath in delightful calm.  
She wore a pair of tight-knit pants. They were of black stretchy fabric, smooth to the touch. It was a gift from her parents. Muggle styles were geared toward comfort of late. These were branded for yoga, an artform she’d not taken up but was rather curious to its benefits. Her mum told her it was for flexibility. No coordination was needed. The run down had been simple enough. Arms up, bend over. Hips shoulders length apart and deep stretches into the pull of her muscles.   
Overtop she wore a loose grey shirt. It was a size too large. The style went, as she was told, to wrap it around into a sort of knot. The fabric swirled into a pleasant design. She kept the knot at her hip. However, it made her nervous to have the little bit of flesh be exposed whenever her arms went above her head.   
Luckily Crabbe and Goyle noticed nothing of her rather muggle outfit. They took their places next to one another, placed their books in front of their faces and stared with rather dejected faces. The works of Herbology made her feel similarly.   
The afternoon in the tower had warranted spare time for her studies. Now in the library there was nothing to command her mind.   
“I’ll just toddle off a minute, yeah?” She said.  
They nodded her off. It was clear that there was little power they held that could stop her from perusing the library. It was her one joy. The clear love of her life.   
She wandered through the darkened aisles. It was not often that she found herself lost within those section. Her mind required other interests. Her eyes gazed up at the titles. Their decayed script of gold lettering spoke to their contents. Legend and lore. It was a widely published topic in centuries before when the past was one of the few things for certain.   
That sweet musk of the books was a comforting scent.   
Hermione ran her fingers down the spines. The small dips and peaks of the script in the leather.   
A soft treading upon the rug underfoot did not alert her to the presence of another person in the aisle. There was a gentle clearing of a throat that tore her eyes away from the dazzling ancient books.  
There was a glittering green pair of eyes that met hers. She hadn’t thought they’d be so close. The overpowering lure, open and welcoming in their gaze, it drew out the surprise in her breath.  
“Oh.” Her mouth moved without thought.  
“Hey. It’s the cheering section.”  
Terrence Higgs was a wizard even better up close than he was at a distance. The shine of his piercing was all the more alluring. The gentle overgrowth of his facial hair gave that ascending darkness to his flesh, trimmed in sharp lines against his cheeks. His necklace was exposed by the casual neckline of his shirt.   
The edge of his button-up shirt was untucked out of his steel colored jumper. His trousers were a light beige, almost ivory.   
“Come again?” She muttered.   
He scratched the back of his neck. Eyes, downcast away from her sight. “From the Pitch. Cheering section from the Pitch.”  
“Oh, right. Ha. Sorry.” The tension fell from her body. She eased. Her open palms rested against her thighs. For a split moment, she watched his eyes fall to the curve of her hips. “How was your holiday? Have a happy Christmas?”  
Terry bobbed his head. The sharp jutting of his Adam’s apple caught her eye.   
There was something so appealing about a man’s Adam’s apple. She especially loved how it climbed higher against their jaw when they were nervous or excited.   
Unwelcome images of Draco’s own throat bobbing in his clear lust forced her thighs closed with the subtle hopes that her own dripping desire might cease. Lust polluted her mind. It made it difficult to focus upon anyone else except the source of the arousal. Had Draco entered, she might have moaned out of instinct.   
“Excellent. Small. Just my family. My sisters prefer to have a private Christmas.”  
“That sounds very sweet.”  
“Yeah. They all pile back in home and spend the whole time playing games and drinking spiked cocoa behind my mum’s back and opening presents.” He smiled as if lost in his own memory of it. “My nieces make it worth all the chaos of two weeks.”  
His life sounded so full of life. It was hard to not become so jealous.  
“How many nieces do you have?”  
“Five.”  
She gawked. “Five?”  
“All girls,” he confirmed with a swallowed chuckle.  
“You’re a regular lady’s man, aren’t you?” Her mouth upturned to a smirk.   
Terry laughed. It was a cheery sound. The harmony that lived within him was genuine. So pure. It was unexpected that a good, wholesome wizard could be found within the realm of serpents. Not only that but be so popular as he was.   
A Slytherin family so happy and innocent was harder to imagine. All holidays in her mind were darkness with evil cackles as they whipped house elves and wished upon the deaths of werewolves, lamenting about the rights of muggleborns and how horrid the state of the world had fallen. Gifts of estates to their newborn children and priceless jewels given to those who remained unimpressed with their luster.  
“Quite so. Those little girls demand it,” he said. “Uncle Tez is their man for everything. Sweets and trinkets and broom rides and bedtime stories. I do it all.”  
It was not romance that had her eyes dazzled. The idea of repopulation was needed for species continuation. What made her in raptures at Terrence’s gentle nature with children was a biological response to a woman’s desire to find an appropriate mate to protect possible offspring.   
Nothing more.  
Still, she clutched her chest as if her heart were within her fingers. “Oh, Godric. That’s so precious.”  
They fell into a pregnant lull. Not one word had been said of the obvious elephant over their shoulder. Draco’s rule of no wizards applied to Terry, a fact which he was aware of. There was no doubt to either that he would disapprove of their interaction.   
His aggression toward the other wizards in her life had subsided once his status in her life become well known. Few bothered her now. The few bold enough to try were ushered off with the assistance of Crabbe and Goyle.   
The two henchmen knew to corral Terry away from Hermione. They’d done it more than once. In corridors, in the Great Hall, once they actually pushed him out of their way on a staircase just so they might not pass.   
Hermione drew in a long inhale. The comfort of the books was slipping. She felt her hands seep their anxiety through the moisture-wicking fabric of her trousers.  
“Well.” She sighed. “I better be going. They’ll have sent a party after me soon.”  
He forced his lips closed and nodded his head. “I understand. But you know…” His thumb brushed against his chin. “You don’t have to be with someone like him.”  
It was not widely known how the nature of their relationship was. Most thought Hermione and Draco were simply friends. It was ignored after a while. Once the initial shock wore off, even her own house overlooked it.   
She suspected that Slytherin House was more adept to the exact nature (intimate details omitted) of the relationship between the pair. They had to. His nature was best understood by those who shared a similar outlook.  
Hermione nibbled at her bottom lip. “Right.”  
“Malfoy’s got childish games in his head. Nothing settled. Comes from that Malfoy mentality that the world is owned by them,” he elaborated. “I wouldn’t doubt a first year might treat you better.”  
He started to walk away. Arms crossed her belly as she watched him go. Then he spun on toe, one finger held in the air.  
“But a sixth year? That might be just even better.”  
Higgs disappeared into the same cloud of silence that he emerged from.   
She leaned back against the shelves with a sigh. Her hand went to her forehead in the total loss of what to think.   
It was a proposition, wasn’t it? The way it was phrased implied it. Heavily. Or was it? He never said in explicit terminology that he was interested. There was no clearer way to state that other than to say it, right?  
Godric, was she going crazy? There was no way that Terrence Higgs said he was interested. That was impossible.   
He was good and kind and smart and…all that she wished Draco to be.   
Hermione remained in her frozen realm of chaotic thinking until it was disrupted by the impending presence of another. She felt the air shift. The tone of his scoff as he passed her two assigned bodyguards without their guarded body near.  
Draco entered that darkened aisle of the library with a groping gaze. There was intensity in his eye, but it was overtaken by the need to scour the length of her legs gripped in taut fabric.  
“There you are.” His eyes were wider than normal. Fingertips ghosted around the knot of his tie. “You could have sent Crabbe and Goyle to find something back here.”  
His eyes flickered around. It was a desolate edge of the expansive library. Old and forgotten by many.   
“They were studying,” she answered in a low tone. “I didn’t want to bother.”  
“Ridiculous.” He cleared his throat. For some reason his eyes kept coming back to her thighs. His fingers ripped through the blonde strands rather rough. “Studying is lost on them. All they’re doing is wasting their time. Besides…My pet can bother them with anything.”  
Hermione could not get over his behavior. It sent chills down her spine.  
“Is something wrong?”  
A single finger tapped against his lips. “What, exactly, are those that you are wearing?”  
“They’re leggings. Or rather, yoga pants. They are for exercising.”  
Something quirked his interest. “Yoga?” He repeated.  
“Have you heard of it?”  
He shook his head.  
“It’s like stretching,” she explained. “It’s good for the body. Make it limber.”  
Draco’s brows leapt up to the height of his face. “Limber, you say.”  
There was no easy way to explain what yoga was. She watched her mother try one whole day until she finally just rolled out the mat and showed it. To Hermione, there was no simpler way to do it.  
She moved into the middle of the aisle. “It’s easier if I just show you rather than explain it.”  
Her feet moved shoulder width apart. One large breath filled her lungs. She allowed her breath to expand her chest, open to the oxygen of the air, the capacity of her lungs reached. The elastic on her wrist wound overtop a messy bun. Her brown curls frayed and strained against the hold of the style. Few strays fell down against her face. She brushed them away.  
Draco watched on with interest. His eyes immediately noticed the exposure of flesh at her hip as her arms raised up above her head. One ankle slid out behind her. Her leg stretched fully.   
Smooth as the motions she remembered. Her body was fluid into the next shift. Both hands placed against the floor, she moved back her other ankle and hovered a moment until she brought her hips close to the floor, back arched as far as it could go.  
“The pants don’t restrict movement. See?”  
The last move was an easy one. It was bending over. Simple. She pulled her torso against her bottom half, holding onto her ankles and pulled herself deep into the stretch.  
It was hard to explain the way Draco looked. The faraway look in his eye caught her attention.   
She approached him. “Do you not like them?”  
His grey ignited with life once they aligned with her gaze. “Don’t wear them ever again.”  
Her jaw dropped. “They’re not that bad, are they?”  
“Pet. I don’t want another wizard to ever look at you in those.”  
“So, you hate them?” Her voice fell.   
Her purpose was not to please Draco. But, it was a happy byproduct if she did. The fact he hated something she rather liked was upsetting and frustrating at the same time.  
His throat cleared. “On the contrary, I love them. In fact, I’d like to take you somewhere private so that I might admire them properly. Or, perhaps, another view of this yoga. But these. I cannot. I’m struggling with the rage that there have been wizards to see you in these already.”  
He led her back to their study table. The sharp edge of his eye earned a few lost students an intimidating gaze until they retreated from whence they came.  
Crabbe and Goyle acknowledged the pair. Hermione passed the table in favor of reading rather than studying. The three wizards shared some hushed words below their breaths. She did not take the time to be interested in it. Chances were slim that it was of consequence.  
She curled her legs in a lounge chair with a book in her lap. Draco growled at the back of his throat.   
“Behave yourself.”  
With a sigh, she put her feet to the ground. It was not comfortable. Her body liked to be folded close when she read.   
It took time to slip into comfort, but she eventually found her space enough to relax enough to breathe through her nose. Her fingers caressed the textured pages of the novel within her grasp. Dated yellow pages with blistering black lettering. The scent of a library on her hands. She breathed it in with ease.  
Draco worked alongside Crabbe and Goyle. He wrote upon a parchment with quick vigor.   
Every few minutes or so, his stormy grey eyes would look back to her. A withheld bite within his mouth. Something different about how he held himself. Like he couldn’t keep away from her for a moment.  
Her heart suddenly raced with doubts of her safety. Was it possible that a plot to kidnap her from Hogwarts was afoot? Did he have information to her compromised wellbeing?  
“Heard Potters got remedial potions,” she heard Goyle snicker.   
“Doesn’t surprise me, the idiot.” Draco scoffed.  
She bit back a retort. Harry was more than acceptable at potions.   
It was Professor’s Snapes eternal love of embarrassing Harry that forged such a ridiculous rumor. Not that the true nature of their private lessons could be explained. If Umbridge were to discover it, it was Merlin’s guess as to what would happen then.  
Occlumency was a dark art. Something that very few learned for its skill that were not in need to protect their guilt.   
Harry’s safety, though, mattered more. His mind was weak. The compromise in the connection to Voldemort not only risked his safety, but the safety of the entire Order.  
An hour passed with total silence as the group worked on their various distractions when Daphne Greengrass strode through the aisle. Her face lit with a pleasant smile.  
“Ello.” She waved.  
There was comfort in the company of Daphne. She was kind. Genuine. And different. That made it easier to differentiate her from the other Slytherins.   
Hermione looked up from her book. “Daphne! Hey.”  
Her voice raised Draco’s head from his reading. An odd tension spread across his features. He watched the Slytherin witch take a seat beside Hermione through narrowed slits of warning. Not once had he exercised that amount of distrust in Daphne Greengrass. Something about it set Hermione’s hairs on end.  
She kept watch on his behavior in the corner of her eye.  
“What are you reading?” Daphne’s glanced at the closed book in her lap. “Anything good?”  
“I wouldn’t consider it a page turner.” Hermione smiled. “Rather interesting, still.”  
Daphne settled back into the lounge chair directly next to Hermione’s. The two girls were instantly happy to be in each other’s company.  
Hermione could tell that Daphne liked her. Conversations were easy. She didn’t have to hide Draco’s truth nor the nature of their arrangement. Daphne was blunt. It was a breath of fresh air to hear such honesty so blatantly.   
Very near, she realized how quiet Draco became. He was leaned close in a very subtle manner.  
He wanted to hear what was said.  
“Better than that Herbology section for class,” she said. “Salazar, have you ever read anything more devoid of emotion?”  
“Have you ever tried listening to someone talk about Herbology? Trust me. It’s even worse.”  
Daphne adjusted the bracelets on her wrists. The dark little marks on her fingers were back. This time her hands were adorned with palmistry symbols. The lunar and solar signs. Cancer, and Leo, and Capricorn and Gemini.   
Hermione smiled. “How was holiday? Make out like a bandit?”  
“My parents did well.” She brushed her hair aside to reveal a dainty necklace of amber. “Adriano did better.”  
Her jaw fell from the socket. “No way. Adraino got you that?”  
Daphne beamed a toothy smile. “Yes! Can you believe it?”  
She motioned for Hermione to feel the stone. It was soft. The jewel was a warm golden hue. Amber was a favorite of Daphne’s. She liked how inviting it felt rather than the cold hard gleam of diamond or emerald.   
“What about Pansy? I thought she stole him away.”  
“So did I.” She touched Hermione’s hand against the rest. “Come to find out, he was just being nice. He thought that she was my friend and he didn’t want to appear rude. She was ‘too self-absorbed and condescending’ for him to pretend to friendship. They stopped writing just before Christmas.”  
Hermione clapped. “Congratulations. You’ve gotten a good one. Only a few months of writing and he’s gotten you a necklace with your favorite stone? That’s a keeper.”  
“Isn’t he though? Salazar, when I say I almost cried, I’m not exaggerating.”  
“A rare gem of a wizard. Worth every tear.”  
Daphne smiled. Her cheek rested against the back of the chair, lost in a dreamy daze. She looked so happy. Thrilled to be chosen over Pansy.   
A subtle emotion filled up Hermione, too, as she knew what it meant to be chosen over Pansy. It was a feeling better than bliss.   
“Anyway,” Daphne hummed. “I thought I might celebrate Valentines Day in Hogsmeade. Up for a bit of girls weekend?”  
It was one thing to be friends in class and around the castle. But out in Hogsmeade? That was quite a statement for Daphne to declare. Hermione was good enough to be seen with in public, from a pureblood standpoint. A bravery that not many of the house exuded.   
There was then the reality that she was Draco’s pet. That freedom was not extended to her.  
Hermione forced a smile. “You know how that goes.”  
“Go on.” Daphne waved her hand. “Ask the boss.”  
“Actually, I think he’s already heard the request.”  
Draco beheld them with caution. It was difficult to discern, but Hermione noticed the slightest hold in his breath.   
“I’m not certain she should be out in Hogsmeade unaccompanied on the most romantic day of the year.”  
Hermione rolled her eyes. It was not like a wizard would snatch her up that fast.   
A sharp hold overtook Daphne’s sapphire blue eyes. “You should reconsider. I’ll be with her the entire time.” The tone was stilted out of her mouth. “You can attend to more important things. She’ll be safe with me.”  
It would be a lie to say that Hermione did not plead with her face. She tried her damnedest to appear in total yearning. Her bottom lip puckered out in the puffy red flesh. Her eyes sloped inward, wide and watery. It was the best she could do.  
Draco exhaled sharply. “I suppose she might be free for a bit.”  
It was weird, the tension between Draco and Daphne. Something shifted in their dynamic. Whether it was sexual or personal, it was difficult to tell, but whatever it was, they were at odds over it.   
The start of the term was only a few days prior. No major drama had yet to start between students.  
Was it possible something took place over holiday? Had there been a disagreement of some kind? Daphne had been short with Draco on the train. Was that it?   
“Now, tell me all about your holiday. How was France?”  
Hermione swallowed. “Christmas was pleasant. I was given so many gifts that I cannot believe so many people care for me.”  
“Ooh. Bandit status?”  
“It felt that way. Mrs. Weasley made me another jumper. Ginny gave me a bunch of colored lip balm. It supposedly changes hue throughout the day. My grandparents gave me loads of new books. My parents, too. Plus my mum bought a whole new wardrobe.”  
“I was going to ask about those trousers. I figured they were new.”  
The black stretchy fabric snapped against her skin. Hermione was a bit surprised Daphne was that comfortable around her.  
She giggled. “Yes, well. They’re for this exercise called yoga.”  
“Yoga.” Daphne said it like a foreign language.  
“It’s like stretching. You can become more flexible and build up some strength just using your own body.”  
It was clear that Daphne had a tough time wrapping her head around the idea. Her face wrinkled as she attempted to imagine exercise without any equipment or rules.  
There was no clear way to explain it. It just had to be done.  
Hermione rose to her feet. “Like this.”  
She moved through the motions that she showed Draco, taking the time to explain the taut feeling in her body as she pushed passed it. Daphne watched on with interest. She took note of the foot placement, arm movement, the stretch in the pants.  
“Wow. Those really are great pants.”  
“I know, right?” Hermione chuckled. “They’re so comfortable. I could live in these.”  
“And muggles just wear these out? Everywhere?”  
Hermione nodded. “It’s the latest trend.”  
“Okay, now. Show me again. Those poses. I’m going to try them tonight before bed.”  
She was only about halfway through when Draco grabbed hold of her hips and raised her to standing. “Time to go,” he said.   
He placed a black robe overtop her shoulders. Her satchel and book in his grasp, he led them out of the library, leaving Daphne in a cloud of disbelief. It only took one minute for him to have her pulled away that it left no time for absorption.   
“I forbid you to wear these in public,” Draco muttered.  
“Okay.”  
Draco did not head toward Gryffindor Tower. Nor did he led her to a loo.   
Instead, he traveled deeper into the castle. Darker corridors. Less students and lesser classrooms. They trekked through the snow, out of the protection of the castle walls. He led her past the Owlery, past the Whomping Willow.  
They came up to one of the abandoned towers of the Hogwarts castle. Pollux Tower as it was named.  
Hermione shivered in the brushing cold of the winter wind. Scotland was not for the faint hearted in the frozen wasteland of winter. It was harsh. The lands were overtook with a blanket of white, seas of solid ice, and the reaching cold that always seeped through the thickest of walls.  
The woods were on the wind. She smelled the earthy fresh scent of pine and evergreen. The foul stagnation of Hogwarts was lost to the vast emptiness of the rolling hills. It was easy to forget the beauty that surrounded them when all things were considered. A deep breath through the nose cleared the darkest of ails. Serenity fell to the heart as visions of snow capped hills gleamed in the distance, yellow sun, shimmering snowflakes indignant to the warmth of the sunlight.   
“What are we doing here?” She asked.  
“Up. Go on.”  
She ascended the stairs as he stayed behind. Through the lonely shuffles of her steps, she recognized the soft murmurings of wards and charms. He protected the tower from being disturbed. Not only from outside, but the inside was not to be heard.  
Her heart sped. She made sure not to betray her knowledge with the falter of her steps. Something was on Draco’s mind. Whatever it was, it warranted privacy.  
The tower was open. Only a few floors filled the empty space of it.   
It was dark. A single torch came to life as she touched the first floor. The ceiling rose high overhead. Dust rested within. It did not look used, but rather it had been tended to once and just locked up after that. A frozen mausoleum of the school’s past. How Draco came to discover it was a mystery.  
There was a disused desk. The layer of grime spoke to the lack of tending.   
A loveseat sat in a corner, covered with a sheet. She pulled back the corner. It was blue and black. There was a faint stain in the corner of the cushion. Since no where else in the castle had such a color scheme, it was fair to say it was used in the Ravenclaw Tower until something retired it to death within the tower.  
The stone floor was empty, cold. Various chairs, tables, desks were scattered in their shrouds of ivory sheets.   
Wrapped in a winding spiral was a staircase. They were narrow. Room enough for only one to trek high to the top of the column. She wandered what laid up there. A room? A magical instrument forgotten by the school? Perhaps books deemed unhabitable within the library.  
Draco ascended the stairs. Her attention turned back to her companion with an examining eye. A cloud of dust burst with each of his steps. The bottom stretch of his black trousers coated in pale particles.   
Her mouth opened to question their presence yet again, but the way his eyes landed upon her flesh, she felt she knew.  
He offered his hand. It hanged in the space between them, an invitation into the depths of what it meant to love him. The pale of his flesh deceived the eye of his lurking darkness. He summoned her own demons to surface. Demons that loved to entangle with his.  
His touch was warm. A fact she would never acclimate to.   
Draco Malfoy should be so cold. He should be unappealing to the senses, not alluring.  
He kissed her hand. The gentle caress of his flesh stirred the beast inside. She felt it awaken. The stretch of its long slumbering body tickled beneath her belly button.   
“You know what you do to me, don’t you? When you wear things like that.”  
She shook her head. She couldn’t begin to understand the workings of his mind.  
She was pulled closer to his body. Her hand the leash that led her into the arms of her temptation.  
“I’m plagued with the question of whether to punish you for tempting other wizards or ravish you for my own enjoyment,” Draco muttered. “Both cause great problems.”  
“Problems?”  
Her small voice did little to break the eerie still of the tower. It remained forbidding. His voice pierced through, echoed against the stone. Hers was lost.  
“Wizards like me aren’t supposed to partake in affairs before marriage,” he said. “Until now, I’ve done well to make my family proud.” Then he swallowed. “You, pet, make me close to losing control. The edge of my sanity. Then I see these, and I cannot stop myself.”  
His fingers ran against the waist of her leggings. The spread of his fingers crossed her upper thighs.  
She licked her lips. “So, you’re not the sex god of Slytherin?”  
Draco let out a strangled chuckle. “As much pleasure as that name brings me, I’m afraid it is the one that is not deserved.”  
When their eyes met, Hermione felt what came next. A soft press of his mouth against hers. It was not needy, as she expected. He offered only a tender kiss upon her lips, a hand against her hip. That was all.  
Disappointed mounted when his lips broke the kiss.  
“But, I’ve never been more tempted to assume the role.”  
Hermione gulped. She’d prepared for the moment when their control was lost to desire. But now that it was upon them, she felt her nerves tighten rather than relax.   
“If,” his breath struggled to remain calm, “I were to ever ask that of you, what would you say?”  
Ask? Ask.   
Draco did not ask. Masters did not ask. They did. They took. It was theirs no matter the resistance.  
Her mind reeled as to what to say to him. She knew that sex was possible. It was wrong to deny that she was immune to her own hormones as they released in his presence.  
If it was her choice, not expected, would she choose Draco as the one to whom her body was given to first?   
He was bad. He was a pureblood. His father supported Voldemort and wanted her dead.  
Had she given enough thought to the truth of her emotions for him? Was he truly the one she loved or was bonded with out of necessity? All those questions swirled around her mind. Their sharp ends stabbed their way at this and that. Her strength, her esteem, her beliefs. Nothing was let whole with Draco Malfoy. Not even her.  
“I am now forever linked with you, aren’t I?” She asked.   
His face remained the same. “Yes.”  
“We can’t go back.”  
“There is no back for us now,” he answered.


	21. Chapter 21

### CHAPTER 21

#### Giddy Glee

Pollux Tower on the edge of Hogwarts Castle was drafty in the winter. The frigid cold of frost crawled upward over the stone walls. Fingers of ice reached in through cracks, clawing its way in. The sharp gusts of winter outside burst through. It burned with every breath.  
The heat of Draco Malfoy’s chest perfumed the air with his cologne. Hermione felt the vapors off his body as the warmth battled the chill in the air. Her hand rested against his chest. In her desperate want for their kiss to continue, her knuckles buckled through the dark fabric.  
Her cheeks flushed as she noticed and released.  
He dipped his face low, not allowing their eyes to stop their connection. The give in his expression of that of need. His patience worn from their separation. A holiday was long without the muse of another. Their connection was that of need and urge, spoiled in their momentary denial and release of the game they played. The reunion of a quick snog only fed their wild desires rather than satisfied. Even then, in the isolated tower of Hogwarts where they’d neither be disturbed or found, Hermione’s body readied for what might come.   
The charged pause of their conversation only fed the revelation of their worst fears and wildest dreams: there would not be a rejection through her lips. The implication, a growing taste against her tongue. It gained strength. The taste poured down the back of her throat into the wildfire of her torso where her aching beast of lust dwelled. Assumption brought consciousness to the animal. Like the call to a fight, hormones flooded her blood stream.  
Tingles ignited her chest, spread down her length like a fire, until only one source was alive with the consciousness of lack of touch. A ring of ache formed upon her breasts. Her nipples hardened. The center of her core burned with the rutting raw edge of desire at one look through his clouded, fairy-like eyes.   
He made her weak. He pushed her limits to distant desires she was not strong enough to deny. Their seductive darkness muttered to the demons within her own flesh. They begged for entanglement against his own, demanded it even.  
Her lips hadn’t the strength to plead. Only look.   
Her eyes flashed down to the line of his lips with hunger. Back to him. The want pooled through her doe eyes with the promise of ecstasy.  
Draco moved. His hands slid beneath the shoulders of her robes and dropped it to the floor as his eyes remained in her sight.   
The weight removed from her body, a layer of freedom given, her chest moved in exaggerated breaths. The beating against her breastbone fueled the rising excitement.   
Hermione stood in full view as he perused the length of her body at his leisure, sure to notice every curve and savor each feature without fear of repercussion. The blistering heat of his gaze traveled up the inner stretch of her thigh, then jumped to the heave of her breasts through the thin knit top. Heat, like a blush, spread across her chest.  
A sheer darkness clouded his eyes. Something within awakened. The only goal was to satisfy that of the most primal urges a body needed. His throat tensed with a single swallow.   
“Turn around,” he instructed in a tone of another dimension. He was possessed. The respectable gentleman Malfoy heir was forgotten at the door. In there, he was nothing but a wizard with a witch.   
The groan split through his lips as her arse came to view shot a delighted burst of tingles through her folds. Her knickers went warm.   
The separation of their touch abruptly became too much. Draco pressed into her back. One hand laced delicately around her throat as the other cinched her waist until not a millimeter of space was between. As her breath moved through her mouth, a delighted sigh in wicked relief, the animal in Draco’s skin breathed in her heat like a rutting beast. His arm fell from her waist to her stomach. Fingers walked against the soft leggings until the faint edge of her knickers alerted him to the closeness of his search. He knew what he sought. And he knew what it did to her.  
Draco’s lips pressed into the tenderness of her throat. His words were soft murmurs to the blaring sound of her lust. “Something about you, pet, has all my senses gone. I find myself fantasizing about this exact moment every waking minute. A maddening repetition.”  
She gasped out when the tip of his finger pressed against her clit. It was the start of an intensity she’d never felt. Only dreamed. The strong hold against his body as he used it for his will was more thrilling than it had been on the clock tower.   
He knew how to be so severe in his torture. The pressure was lessened. The rotation barely felt through her knickers and pants.   
“Imagine my shock when in the middle of the library, when I wanted to make you mine right there in the aisle.” The grip on her throat tightened ever so slight. She gasped. Hips thrusted forward right into his palm. The very pussy he wanted to own. He wanted it. It plagued his very thoughts. “Next time. You’ll think twice, yes?”  
A shot of his breath pushed through her ear. His hoarse whispering no matter how threatening encouraged her lust rather than dimmed. The way he touched her without question, without thought, he took what he wanted from her and in the moment where her resistance and pride mounted, a wave of pleasure swept them away.   
Her mind reeled as he pressed into the side of her face in dense breath. Draco sought control. The groping had stopped, but his taut embrace of her body remained. The thought to stop was forefront. He wanted her to resist so that he might stop himself before he passed the edge of themselves.  
Hermione’s courage mounted. “If this is your punishment, I might wear them every day.”  
The raw sexual tension in her tone added to the haze of primal desire. A need to be fulfilled as all living things felt. A release of control at the hands of another. The center of an obsession that surrounded his mind in an unending fog.   
He pulled her to face him. She was lost in the pull of the depths of her body. Her beast was strong. It howled for release. One hot touch to ignite the fire that would consume her. A licking flame over her flesh. The hard friction of her body as it was used for what it was made.   
Draco gripped her chin. It raised.  
Instead of the wild licking flame of lust, there lived two hard moons of icy despair.  
“If you wear them again, it shall not be this pleasant. Of that, I promise.”  
With that, he let her go. Unfulfilled and in need. She struggled for lucid thought as he was set to go on his way. Descended a few steps, Draco turned. Her body screamed, begged, crawled with hunger to be pleased.   
“Come, pet. Let’s get you in something appropriate,” he said coolly.   
Hermione grabbed the robes from the floor. Their dust remained embedded in the dark fibers as it slid over her. The protection of her body amongst the loose flowy robes that hid all elements of her body.   
It was a silent hike back to the castle. Her body blistered under the guise of indifference when truly all she wanted was to shag. It fueled a fire, once of desire, now of anger. Once they breached the castle walls where life surged around them, warmth in the very air, it was quieter still.   
Draco led her directly to the Fat Lady portrait on the wall. Hermione’s eyes narrowed.  
“How do you know where the entrance is?” She questioned. “Only Gryffindors are supposed to know.”  
He gave a sharp look. “A bit of thought riddles most secrets. Remember that. There are not many things I cannot learn.”  
The DA flashed through her mind. Draco had proven a direct interest in the group. Would she be the one to compromise the group because of his obsession?   
Hermione stepped through the portrait with a renewed sense of caution. Her bitterness not entirely separated from the teasing he gave to her in the tower. He was a wizard of depth. The bottom of his vengeance was still to be discovered. The hatred of her friends led him to shocking lows. It was not unfounded to believe that rage inside him might force his hand to ensure they are all punished.   
Drogon watched her change clothes with a distinct disapproval. She knew that look.  
“Stop it,” she muttered. “It’s easier to let him have his way than fight. You know what happened last time.”  
What she would have rather preferred was that fight. She wanted to hex his legs until they jittered and shook him to the ground. The smirk wiped off his face as a bat dragged out of his nostril. Anything to level the burn of rejection.   
She slipped her uniform trousers over her hips and buttoned them closed. “Don’t wait up.”  
Drogon accepted his last scratching before she bolted out the door.  
Hermione was with Draco all day. They were mostly quiet. Things felt different since the Tower. Draco was tense and silent. It was as if he was lost in thought, but angry at what he thought of. More than once he exhaled out of his nose with the air of irritation. She tread lightly. Those times were not the times to press the length of his mood as much as she yearned to prod into those vulnerable areas.  
It was not the time. There was more at stake in the depths they were within. She was forced to remain the quiet, obedient pet. For now.  
Hermione returned to Gryffindor Tower later that evening only moments before Ron. He wore a soft grey jumper. The sparkle in his blue eyes the focal point of his presence. She felt herself staring into them with a bit of awe. Ronald was a handsome wizard. It might not be obvious, but he was.   
The warm smell of Gryffindor Tower welcomed them home as it always did. In one wild burst of serenity. Hot cinnamon swirled in the air. The crackling fire held a happy reception for every student within its reach. A mighty hearth in a cold school was a blessed thing. It gave some semblance of love for the Tower the Gryffindors called their own.  
She smiled as her best friend entered the room with her by his side.   
“Ronald,” Hermione said softly. “Can I tell you something?”  
“Yeah.” He shrugged.  
Her hand gestured toward the fluffy couch. He obliged with a seat in the middle. She took the seat next to him, but a proper length away. The last thing she wanted was more reason for Draco to believe there was something romantic between Ron and her.   
In fact, she needed his attention off of them entirely. The DA was at risk. Draco’s rage would only fuel him further to find them all out so that he might punish Ron for whatever reason his mind deemed it right.  
Hermione was adorned in the light of trust within her best friend’s eye. He was comfortable, unbothered by her request. His back leaned against the support of the overstuffed cushions. Arms stretched across the back. One arm almost seemed to surround her in her seat.  
She held her breath. “You know, I think, there is a witch who has feelings for you.”  
That made his attention heighten. He leaned forward.  
“You do?”  
She nodded. “Yeah. I overheard it in the dormitory a while ago, and judging by the way she watches you; I think it is genuine.”  
“A Gryffindor, eh?” He rubbed his chin. “What’s her name?”  
There was a moment where she thought to lie. It was a disturbing thing to reveal to a friend that she respected so much. Her lips pursed tight. But as she watched Ron look upon her with such mutual favor, it was wrong to hide the information she knew would make him happy just to save herself the hassle of socializing with the witch.   
“Lavender. Lavender Brown.”  
His forehead wrinkled as he absorbed the news with a rather serene expression than the dramatic flair that was so loved by Lavender Brown. “Really? I had no idea. Hardly noticed the witch before.”  
This was where it hurt to tell him what a nice girl she was when Hermione could not stand the witch in more than ten-minute doses. It was nothing to do with her appearance but rather the personality of a witch that was rather whimsical than rational. Ron was not so far vested in logic as Hermione was, so there was a chance it would not seem off-putting to him.   
“She’s rather pretty, don’t you think?” She asked with as much force as she could muster. “And she’s Gryffindor, so that’s convenient. She loves animals, just like you.”  
Ron nodded along. “I do like animals.”  
“Since Harry is out with Cho, and I’ll be out with Daphne, perhaps you might ask Lavender to Hogsmeade for Valentine’s Day. Might be a nice time to break the ice.”  
He startled. “On Valentines Day? Won’t that give her…the wrong impression?”   
The way he looked so shaken made her want to pinch his cheek for being so cute.  
He had no idea what he was in for with that witch.  
“Just tell her you’d like to get to know her better and if she is free, you’d like to spend some time window shopping in Hogsmeade,” she elaborated. “That sounds simple enough, right?”  
He agreed it was straightforward.  
“But what about money? I don’t have much. Not for me and her.”  
“I’ll give you a bit for some hot cocoa or something.”  
“You don’t have to do that, Mione.”  
She smiled. Her hand touched his against his knee. “I know, but I want to. Who knows? You might have a really nice time together.”  
Ronald agreed to ask her. It was a huge relief that he was open to a date. Once Draco figured it out, it would calm his suspicions. Perhaps he might loosen his obnoxious hold on her like any moment she might be whisked away by another wizard’s wand.  
Hermione and Ron waited in the common room for Harry. He had lessons with Snape once again. He arrived just before Hermione and Ron were due to start patrol, but he was wildly erratic. It raised their suspicions.   
“Did something happen?” She asked.  
He was coated in a layer of sweat. His chest kept breathing as if he was exhausted. Harry’s green eyes went mad in the confines of their sockets.   
“No.” His voice was forceful. “Well, maybe. Yeah. I think. I think I saw into his mind again. Voldemort’s. I saw the Department of Mysteries…” His voice trailed off. Ron and Hermione surrounded him with concern. Both of them knew how precarious it was to have an unspoken connection between their minds. Hermione chewed her bottom lip until Ron touched her wrist with a look of comfort. “You know how they said he wanted a weapon. A weapon he didn’t have last time. I think, I think it’s there. In the Ministry. He knows something is there.”  
She could read Ron’s face like a book. He remained unconvinced that was what had Harry in a stir.  
Harry then turned away. “I, uh, I’m tired.”  
It was not like him. Well, as much as himself as he could be.  
“Nothing else happened?” Hermione asked. “You’re sure you’re alright?”  
He paused. A solemn frown pulled his face downward.   
“Snape brought me back. He jumped through my memories to that night,” he said quietly. “Made me watch him die. Again.”  
Cedric. The graveyard. Voldemort.   
It was an intense moment in Harry’s life. One that still tortured him at night. What an unfair place to start their training.  
She swallowed back her emotion. “You’re not supposed to let him in, Harry. You’re supposed to fight.”  
“Yeah, mate. You can’t just give in. He’s going to try to hurt you any way he can just like Voldemort would,” Ron added. “You can’t give up.”  
Their best friend fell quiet. His face dark with shadow and despair.   
Dumbledore’s Army had turned Harry’s life around. His spirits were higher than the start of last year. It was all thanks to the welcome distraction and renewed purpose of one’s hands that gave all their members courage to join. They all needed something to fight away the demon’s of Cedric’s death.   
Professor Snape offered Occlumency because of the weakness in Harry’s mind. There was a vulnerability that put them all at risk.   
He had to hold strong against the forces of evil. He was the one who mattered.  
“I won’t.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I won’t.”  
Harry ascended the staircase toward the boy’s dormitory. Each step a quieter fall of sound. It concluded with the closure of a wooden door.  
Patrol was due to start any minute.  
“Come on, then. We best head on.” She sighed.  
Term just started and it was already too long for her liking. It wasn’t about learning or exams any longer, but protection and the looming threat of evil in every action there was. Life was no longer simple. The muddled colors of grey bled through the lines of right and wrong until there was no clear separation of the two.   
Hermione herself was lost to the sea of grey.   
“Actually,” Ronald said as he slid his hands into his pockets, “I’m going to stay behind.”  
“But Ron. It’s our duty.”  
He nodded. “I know that. I do. But, Harry needs me. He isn’t right tonight. And we can’t leave him alone to stew in it.”  
It was expected of a house Prefect to tend to their duties. There was nothing to enforce it, but it was demanded by their honor to function accordingly. Hermione carried that weight around with her everywhere. She dismissed points from her own house for rule breaking. That was difficult work. But it was done without question.  
Hermione saw the commitment as not an option. It was something they had to.  
“McGonagall trusts us to do this,” Hermione said.  
“I’ll make it up to you. I swear to it.”  
He already started to pull away from her. His eyes traveled up the stair after Harry.   
As much as she hated to, she swallowed back her pride and allowed him to leave her alone in the dark of night to patrol a deadly castle. That meant that she had to run and grab mittens and a hat to explore the darker, colder parts of the castle. Drogon sat atop her bedspread. His tail flickered in a wave as she approached.  
She regarded the cat as she layered more warmth atop her body. “Fancy a stroll?”   
There were a few giggles from across the room. The girls were painting their toenails with a spread of magazines on the floor. Many boasted beautiful models in all sorts of cutting edge witch fashions that were rarely saw in London. France dressed more modern. Japan was right behind them, too. Uganda started to show expansion of fashion into the modern era.   
English magical peoples were traditional. Even those who were seem as non-traditional were rigid with magical tradition. Robes and cloaks and pointed hats. It was a common occurrence for all families to be seen in such clothing.   
It was the reason Hermione preferred muggle clothing to witch. The witch in London was thought of as a cosplayer or some weird woman who cut her own hair and raced naked through a forest at night. Muggle fashions had a wide range of what the statement might be. It was easy to blend with calmer, muggle tones. She was a witch no matter what attire she wore. Flowy robes did nothing to amplify her magic.   
Lavender fussed over a magazine from Uganda. The model was bold. Her head was shaved bald. A gold chain laid overtop the naked skull with the regal balance of a crown. The deep rich ebony of her skin glowed beneath the white linen shift dress as it laid fitted against her body.   
It was beautiful.   
“Godric. Don’t you think we’d look so much better like this?” She flashed the cover to Romilda. “That head chain would look stunning on you, Mil.”  
“Our mums would kill us before we could dress like that,” Romilda said. “If I said I want to wear trousers outside school, she is bothered. Witches wear robes. That’s just the way it is.”  
Hermione was not acknowledged as she collected her cat from her bed. None of her dorm mates were interested in what she might have to say on the matter.   
Drogon bounded down the dormitory stairs. She followed.   
They hopped through the portrait hole together. Drogon had an impressive leap for his size. The cat never required her assistance. With his attitude, she knew not to offer it either.  
The night was heavy. It hurt her eyes to peer through the dense darkness. The light of her wand was little compared to the immense black beyond that stretched for miles beneath the roof of the castle.   
It was her cat that moved through with no qualms about what rested on the other side. He ran ahead, having to stop and wait for her to catch up before he could resume on his journey.   
Her breath was a puff of smoke in front of her eyes. An ethereal Patronus.   
“How are you not frozen?” She muttered down at the bounding cat. “Even my tongue is cold.”  
He meowed up at her.  
“You’re smaller than me. You should be shivering just the same.”  
Patrol in the castle was a boring job. Often it was thankless. Very few were caught out of bed after hours. Especially since Draco Malfoy became Prefect and could not be punished by any other Prefect.   
It was nice to have a partner. She liked having Ron to talk to, or at least give company throughout the late hours. Time passed quicker that way.  
“How long has it been Drogon? Two hours, you think?”  
She checked her wand. Nope. Twenty minutes.  
“We’re going to be here a while.” She groaned.  
They carried on in silence. The castle creaked and groaned with ghosts and age. Wind shrieked throughout the corridors. The winding echoes of Peeves shenanigans were a haunting threat with awful cackling.  
Their sounds were as soft as a cat’s paw as they moved through the corridors. It was an empty sheet of black. No one stirred their patrol. Not even the ghosts of the castle, who were often active within the rise of the moon.   
Drogon and Hermione were on their way for the last of their patrol down to the last floor. It was late. Her eyes were heavy as she blinked back her exhaustion.   
Through the black, they heard a soft sound. It came up from the Grand Staircase. Hermione peaked her head over the railing. Drogon, too, stuck his head through the slats to peer through darkness.  
His ears shifted backward. The white of body wiggled away and down the stair. She had to run to keep up with him. His tail was all she could see as she moved. It bounced along the trail toward the sound.   
She knew he was tracking the source, whatever it was. Her trainers tapped the wood steps with as much grace as she could muster in a rush. There was no point in alerting them to her presence.   
Her nose knew the moment they came close to the courtyard. The sharp sting of fresh air filled her body with prickling. Wind burst against her exposed nose and cheeks. The fibers of her clothes spread, as if in welcome, as the cool wrapped around her body in the cold embrace of the afterlife. Quickly, she wrapped the scarf around her face as much as she could.   
Drogon hissed in the distance. A sign that there was someone out there. She chased after the sound.  
He paced back and forth, hissing all the while and yowling when the person dared move.   
Hermione approached without worry. “It’s past curfew. All students should be in bed, you know. I’ll have to deduct house points for this.”  
The figure turned around. It revealed a soft, frightened face. Blonde length rested as her shoulders, a pair of sparkling, wide eyes of sky blue shined in ghostly glow in the blue light of a Lumos spell.   
Hermione lowered the wand from her face. “Astoria? What are you doing out here?”  
The witch looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry. I could not sleep. I just needed a bit of fresh air. Please. I didn’t mean any trouble.”  
She was so soft spoken than Hermione had to lean in to hear her. Drogon’s hiss was louder than it.  
“Hush, you.” She muttered at the cat. She forced a smile. “Sorry. He’s not very charming. I don’t know why I put up with him.”  
Astoria seemed to ease the slightest bit. Her eyes at least raised to level.  
“He is very pretty.”  
“Thank you,” she said back. “Would you mind continuing this inside? It’s frigid and I can’t feel my fingers.”  
The witch nodded. She followed alongside without a sound. Her steps were soft, inaudible. The small puffs of her breath dissipated just as swift as they appeared. Everything about her was minimal.   
It was eerie to be in such a witch’s presence with little impact. Gryffindor was not a place for those who were timid, unseen. That was a trait that was meant for the serpents of Slytherin with whom valued silence and all-seeing eyes.  
Astoria gave a soft smile when she caught Hermione’s gaze. She blinked away, turning her attention to her own path through the corridors where there was an absence of gusts of the winter air.   
Breath finally came in lung-filled deepness as the tepid heart of the castle air flowed easily.   
Finally, she was warm enough that she didn’t tremble with a shiver every minute. She sighed as she pulled the scarf and mitten from their seat. “I’ve not caught you before. Do you sneak out of bed often?”  
The witch’s eyes went wide. “No. No. I stay in the dormitory. I’ve never.”  
Hermione believed that to be truthful.   
“What were you doing out there? You know its easy to freeze in those temperatures. No one could have helped if you’d gotten hurt. There are reasons why you aren’t permitted out of bed, after hours. It isn’t safe being one of them.”  
“Forgive me. I did not mean to cause trouble. I just…” Astoria rubbed beneath her eyes. “I just needed a moment to myself.”  
A quiet came up between them. It was not often that a young Slytherin needed assistance. Hermione, herself, experienced a first in her years.  
“Are you okay?” Hermione inquired.   
It was not common for a witch to suddenly become a rule-breaker without prompt. Astoria was much too timid of a witch. Something else was afoot in her life.   
Astoria’s bottom lip trembled, however, she nodded.  
“I know the stress of third year can be overwhelming.”  
“It is,” Astoria replied with a squeak. “It can be filled with strife.”  
It was Draco and Pansy’s duty to service their younger house mates. Neither were doing their jobs as Prefects if there were third years sneaking out for a break in the middle of the night.   
Hermione touched the witch’s shoulder, forgetting that it was not necessarily smart to do such a thing to pureblood Slytherin, and attempted to comfort the best way she knew how. “Is it class? Are you struggling with your coursework? Because there is tutoring.”  
“No. It is not my assignments.”  
Shocking.   
“Are there tensions in Slytherin house?”  
The poor witch nodded her head. “Much.”  
Damn it, Draco. If he wasn’t so focused upon who Hermione spent her time with, he might have focused upon the students that needed help within his house. What was Professor Snape thinking making Draco and Pansy Prefects?  
Hermione rubbed the witch’s back. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
It was not her place to pry into the inner depths of the Slytherin den. She already knew too much the way it was. Still, if Astoria was struggling, she needed to help in any way she could.  
“Wouldn’t it be, awkward? For you.”  
“Course not. I’ve learned to be not weird about all that. Thanks to Draco.”  
Astoria was suddenly overcome with shivers. Hermione frowned. The poor girl was not covered in much protection from the cold at all. She had to be freezing. Hermione offered her mittens and her scarf.  
Orange was not Astoria’s hue. It pulled away from the angelic image of her perfect posture, glide of a walk, and soft rosy glow of a blush through her creamy skin.  
The witch sniffed. “I feel rather awful and guilty. Like I’ve done something wrong. It is not fair. I have had no choice in the matter. Pansy gives me death glares all day long. It makes me want to cry. Daphne says just to do as I’m told.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to.”  
Hermione swallowed. “Pansy can get under the skin. She gets under mine all the time.”  
“How can someone be so jealous? Just because we’re Draco’s girls doesn’t mean - .”  
“Pardon?” It just erupted out of Hermione’s mouth. “What did you say?”  
Astoria stared blankly. As if she did not understand.  
“You said ‘we’re Draco’s girls’. What do you mean?”  
The blue eyes doubled in size. “You mean.” Her lips parted in a soft gasp. “You don’t know?”  
The air changed around them. Hermione felt a shift in the demeanor of Astoria. She slipped out of Hermione’s touch.  
It was quizzical. Or rather, it felt tense but not.  
“Do you mean to say you like Draco?” Hermione asked. “I’m not angry, of course. I understand it.”  
Astoria sniffed once more. “He didn’t tell you?”  
She shrugged. “Tell me what?”  
“He’s…asked me to Hogsmeade on Valentine’s Day evening. It is the start of our courtship.”  
Being struck by the Knight Bus would have been more likely than the words that came out of Astoria’s mouth. Hermione was stunned into silence. A million thoughts rushed to her mind at once. Firstly, she felt the urge to curse Astoria. The protective need to stake her claim at the wizard clouded everything else. It was the only thing that made sense.  
It was Astoria’s words that rang through in clarity. Her guilt. She did not want to court Draco.  
Daphne told her to do it though. Daphne, Hermione’s friend, who invited her out on Valentines Day. To distract her from finding Astoria and Draco together?   
Merlin. They were both going to pay!  
Mostly Draco, for being a two-faced sneak. And lying to her.  
He had the bullocks of a dragon to accuse her of being a slag for wearing leggings when he was the one courting another witch while sneaking off to grope her!  
The shock was not to be hidden. Hermione felt it drain from her features onto the floor. It kept coming. An unending wave of complete disbelief and anger.   
Astoria dirtied her face with an ugly frown. “I’m so sorry.”  
That stabbed at the prideful heart of the Gryffindor.   
Hermione waved her away. “Back to your dormitory. Please. Curfew is a serious rule. Stay in your House until morning. Next time, I’ll be forced to levy a punishment.”  
That was the last she remembered of the night. The next time her mind gained consciousness of itself, the morning sun rose in the sky and it was time to ready for a day of class. Her eyes burned from crying through rage. She used a charm that Ginny taught her. It freshened up the dark bags beneath her eyes, the bright red rim, the sickly appearance of her unwashed face.   
She donned the uniform skirt. It was a modest length at her knee, as it was supposed to be. Perhaps, she might wear it a bit higher. A bit of her thigh showed to the light of day. It was pale. The purple lace of her veins a constant throughout the virgin flesh of her legs.   
A jumper was tossed back into her trunk as she snatched out the foil packet of pills she hardly needed now. She placed two bras over top one another. It gave a false swell. Let the bastard realize just what he was going to have to deal with.  
Draco Malfoy was an arrogant son of a witch if he thought she wouldn’t find out about his secret girlfriend. What hurt more was that he acted normal. He remained the same as she remembered. The breakout from Azkaban didn’t move him as strongly as her presence did. He walked closer in the halls. His hand always possessively outstretched when others tread too close for his comfort.   
It set her teeth on edge how many times his eyes flashed their happy swirl at her. The toying of her desire as those watchful grey eyes noticed the dimension within her blouse and the rising of her skirt sent her ripples of fury.  
If he was so pleased with her, then why was he starting a courtship without another witch?   
She snapped her quill in two. They worked in the library on a Charms assignment. His eyes rose from his parchment. The broken tip rested in the center of their table fixed between him and her.   
“That is the second quill you’ve broken today,” Draco pointed out. “Either you don’t know your own strength or something has you bothered. Out with it, pet. Tell me what’s on your mind.”  
Oh, you slimy, piece of dung.  
Should she explode in the middle of the library with a room full of witnesses? A swift curse might appease her fury.   
Had the tides been reversed, if she were the one with a secret boyfriend, what would he do? When he thought that Ron was her boyfriend, he managed to get the twins and Harry kicked off the Quidditch team like a slippery snake. A staged fight in front of a crowd of spectators. It was one of his best acts yet.  
Perhaps it was the edge of becoming mental that convinced Hermione to be wicked in her revenge, or even want it, but she opted for a plot. A plot to placate her awful, dark desires in lieu of the actual desires she thought he might satisfy himself.   
“I’m just anxious about Valentines Day,” she lied with a giddy glee. For once, the lie felt good. Delirious even. “Never been out on Valentine’s Day before.”  
“You’re not on a date.” He snarled. His upper lip curled. “It’s a girl’s day. Not a romantic outing.”  
Oh! That was just classic. Be angry at the thought of her on a date whilst he has one planned with another witch. Would he find hidden places in the castle to grope her behind Hermione’s back? Would he touch her body as he learned to with hers? Would there be hidden snogs out of sight?  
Hermione swallowed back the burning fury. It hurt. Yet, she managed to find whatever it was inside herself that yearned for revenge and used it as a shield back to the blissful ignorance of her blinded love for him.   
“But what about you? What will you do on the day of romance?”  
She fluttered her eyelashes for good measure. Innocence. It had to be innocent, subtle, naïve. He could not know she knew.   
That was a challenge seeing as all she wanted was to hex his balls off.   
Draco took a moment too long to answer her. The fabrication of a falsehood, she knew it well. It took a while to learn his tells, but she knew that he was swift with truths like a whip, but his lies were smoother, thought out.  
The beating in her heart sped with anger. It took every ounce of restraint to hold her tongue behind her teeth.  
“I’ll finally have the chance to go for a fly without zipping back here right away,” he said.  
“You won’t go to Hogsmeade? I thought we might meet up later in the day, walk back to Hogwarts together.”  
“Well you’ll just have to wait to see me until the next day.”  
That was not like him. Even he had to hear it.  
Hermione clicked her tongue. “Really? What if I meet a wizard in Hogsmeade who fancies a cuppa? Who’s going to repel his advances?”  
Oh. It turned worthwhile when he met her gaze. The tension was so delightfully delicious. She wanted to suck his face to consume all the joy she felt from his indecision.   
Is that what he felt like always? It was intoxicating.  
“I’d hope that you would, pet,” he hissed. “Just remember who owns you.”  
How could she forget?   
She was his pet.  
His only pet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: first off, thank you for all the support on this story! It’s been a wild ride trying to assume the head space to write something like this. Stockholm was a small idea when it started that I’ve crafted into something so much more; It is going to be a series called ‘The Years’. This being the first story in the collection. Secondly and most importantly, your comments and kudos and likes and reviews give me such purpose in my writing. I’m very interested in hearing your thoughts on my works. It helps me become better than I was. I hope that reflects. I very much love being in this community. Although J.K. Rowling has done her damnedest to make Harry Potter to stand for something it surely did not, I hope that all my readers know that I stand with trans lives and rights. I believe that even Harry Potter shows that acceptance of those different from us is monumental for the world. If ever this becomes a political statement to be associated with the franchise because of her statements, it will be considered to abandon the stories in lieu of other more accepting and beautiful stories. Again, thank you for all the support and love. I am truly blessed. Somehow when I stumbled into reading a Dramione fanfiction, I had no idea just how it would change my life for the better. It’s been considered that I write another Hermione pairing story with someone other than Draco (*gasp* I know) Who would you also like to see better represented in the fanfiction community? Let me know your thoughts.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**A Date To Remember**

Terrence Higgs took daily swims. Everyone knew his hobby. Witches liked to linger in the outer corridors as he moved through the waters of the Black Lake just to catch a glimpse of his suit. He owned specialty swimwear that were charmed to endure the cold conditions of Scottish winter waters. The black fabric covered all his flesh. Just below his chin the swimsuit started and ended at his ankles. Winter cold did deter most of the prying eyes to the inner depths of the castle.

Today, he took a swim just after the evening meal. As far as Hermione could tell, she was the only one who watched him cross the lake. Terry rose from the waters a short while later. The bare of his feet as they stood buried in mounds of white snow looked painful. He remained unbothered.

The stack of his folded clothes levitated behind him as he traced through the rocky beach back to the Hogwarts. The long strands of his hair dripped water onto his shoulders. His flesh was animated with color; the blood brought to the surface from the cool waters of the Black Lake.

Hermione Granger pictured him as a Californian surfer as he walked. Had he swung a board beneath his arm, he would have looked the part. It was an intoxicating scene. He was fit, and beautiful. Something so relaxed yet regal in his demeanor as he walked.

He smiled politely and waited for a pair of Ravenclaws to pass on the narrow walkway carved through the snow drifts. They exchanged a few polite greetings. His voice carried on the wind.

She forced her knees steady when his eyes fell upon her, in the threshold awaiting his return, but they had other ideas. A tickle behind her kneecap nearly brought her to the ground. Her hands gripped the stone wall with all her might. Teeth clenched.

She begged her courage not to abandon her to her ethics, which would swallow her whole if she allowed herself to think on it much longer. This required no thought. Just action.

Terry entered the castle only adorned in his diving suit and wand. There was still the solid black necklace at his throat. A shiny single silver ring rested in his ear. A droplet dripped from the flowing black of his locks. She had to wipe away the drool from the corner of her mouth before he noticed the literal allure.

Damn Malfoy and the hormones he left unsatisfied. Would she ever be normal again?

“My, my. What a surprise.” Terry pulled at the taut snap at the back of his neck. The top of his suit relaxed at it was pulled apart. “Managed to escape from him, I see.”

“Seems like he has been yearning to escape from me,” she replied.

Terry remained quiet. He did, though, mumble a charm to warm his dripping wet body.

Her eyes were too attracted to the silhouette he cut in that suit. She forced herself to glance back at her hands. “I thought I might take you up on your offer.”’

She chewed her bottom lip. It was not easy to contain herself.

His brows were slow on their ascent upward. “Finally found something better to do.”

“Well there was a line at the Astronomy Tower so…” Hermione grinned.

He chuckled. “Where’s the prat at, anyway?”

“Probably planning his date.” She shrugged.

Terry whistled a long, low note. “He’s more of a wanker than I thought.”

The question remained unanswered. It allowed room for the unwanted penetration of rejection as she waited, the quiet between them rather poised on the assumption that he would answer her request. Her finger hooked beneath another. She shifted her weight, moving more than an impatient six-year-old.

“Do you mind if we walk and talk? I am in nothing but a soaking bather.”

Her face blushed. “Right. Of course.”

They walked in a cloud silence. Hermione was uncertain if she should ask him out again. It was not reassuring that he did not respond right away. If he was being kind to let her down soft, she was irritated. It was best not to waste a person’s time. Honest was best.

Terry’s feet squeaked as he walked. It was like thousands of squeakers followed him throughout the castle.

He glanced over at her as she winced with each squeak. “That’s a bit annoying, isn’t it?”

“Only a tad,” she replied.

“That better?” He asked after he motioned the end of his wand overtop his toes.

The noise was gone.

She nodded. “Better.”

A silence fell back between them. It felt filled with some unspoken thing. She was not confident it regarded Draco or rather that he was not interested in her.

“You know,” Terry said. It stirred her to attention. “I don’t understand you.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “Pardon?”

“You can’t wait to be away from him, but you don’t seem to hate him.” The green of his eyes was calm as it regarded her. “What is it that Malfoy is to you? A passing fancy or lingering irritation?”

Her tongue was restrained by the cage of her teeth. The frustrations with Draco were more revealing than she wished them to be.

“Honestly,” Terry clarified.

“A bit of both,” she answered. “He’s a lie. We both are.”

“How do you mean?”

“You don’t see Lucius allowing his only son to be with a muggleborn, do you?”

Terry pushed his lips together. “The chances are minimal.”

“Exactly. It is all a lie. We’ve allowed ourselves to be caught in a realm of fantasy. Like it is normal to be in such a position with another person.” She forced her voice to steady as it threatened to break as the words she said hit her mind. They were a fantasy. It was not real. All imaginary. Draco and she were not logical, rational, possible. They did not belong. “It is time to let it go before anyone gets really hurt.”

“Do you love him?”

Her mind went blank. It was blasted through with the question, like it was an accusation.

She cleared her throat. “Of course not.” She forced herself to chuckle at its ridiculousness. “The last person I want is Draco Malfoy. We’ve only gotten so comfortable because of his forced association. I’d rather not see him hurt. My hate has dissipated for him, true, but nothing else romantic has formed in its place.” She stole a breath. Her thoughts were out of control as she searched for the rationalization she needed. “He’s just illuminated the shade of Slytherin. They aren’t so intimidating once you realize they aren’t all hating your guts with their entire soul. That is just him, and Pansy. And Marcus Flint.”

The Grand Staircase was packed full of students. Evening classes started soon. Hermione was one of the few who did not have to rush off somewhere. Terrence was apparently in the same boat. The leisurely way he swung his arms as he walked spoke to his comfort.

Hermione descended lower alongside him. She forgot what lurked below.

The dungeons. It was an invisible wall of chill that once pierced, filled the soul. Hermione could not have survived a Slytherin placement. Her teeth chattered in reflex.

“Not a fan of the cold, are you?” He smirked. In his hand was the offer of his striped Slytherin scarf.

“Not in the least.”

She wrapped the scarf around her neck. Its warmth was nice. The fresh spring scent of his cologne ignited a bit of inner warmth.

“I’m not like him,” Terry said. His eyes were strong, suddenly. She nodded in their light. “I’m not a hateful person. My family is not evil. We don’t support the cause that the other families, like the Malfoys, have declared pureblood issue.”

“I didn’t think you did…”

“Slytherin is our history, but we are more than that. My mum raised a gentleman to respect a witch. You’ll not find the desire to control you as he does.”

Hermione nodded. “I understand.”

“If it wasn’t Valentine’s Day weekend the next time we were in Hogsmeade - .”

“I’m fine with it,” she said quickly. “Truly. I won’t make any assumptions.”

He chuckled. “I did not want to imply things.”

“Totally. I understand,” she said in relief. “Three Broomsticks at five, sound alright?”

Terry nodded. “Sure.”

They parted, each with separate smiles. As one descended toward the dungeon common room, his smile widened. As Hermione climbed forever upward, the smiles drained away from her face. A hurt took its place.

She hated how it came to that.

Draco’s date with his new girlfriend, Astoria Greengrass, was at four thirty at the Three Broomsticks on the same day: Valentines Day. Though, Terry had been concerned about a first date on the day of romance, apparently Draco was ready to dive straight through to his intention on his first date. It was the reason for Hermione’s second step in her devious revenge plot.

Terrence and Hermione would arrive surely once Draco was there with his date. She would look stunning, sure to catch his eye. He would be caught in his own lie if he were to approach, but his anger over her own date would cause a rift to tear in him.

The lying bastard would either ruin his relationship with Astoria or Hermione. Possibly, both.

It was all the joy Hermione needed to fuel the charade of innocence to his plans. He pretended he’d spend his time out of doors, enjoying the solitude without a pet to fuss over, while in the back of his mind he played the role of the menacing spider about to consume two flies. Little did he know of a lion’s rage. It would tear him to shreds.

She began to yearn for the taste of his delicious shock. It controlled all her thoughts.

Whilst in the DA, she thought of what his face might look like as Terry Higgs’ eyes roamed all over her. Was it too casual to wear leggings on a first date?

Her eyes summoned the images of him as she trained. Spell after spell. Thrumming electricity zapped through her fingertips. The wood of her wand absorbed all that strength, that need, the focus of intensity, and thus surged with strength at each target. She left her friends stunned over mounds of ash at the remains of their practicing dummies.

Each dummy was equipped with a pair of arms, wand, a face devoid of features, and a painted chest with a center target drawn. After being obliterated, they reanimated themselves back to condition.

“Again,” she said.

Before Harry could mutter a word, Hermione fired more shots. This time she took on three dummies at once. She moved in their paths. They surrounded her. Her wand shot the spell ‘Reducto’ at the first dummy. It exploded into thousands of tiny black pieces that flung throughout the room.

The other two rushed her. One of her legs shot out, kicked the dummy hard in the center of it’s target, zapped another spell, before she ducked low, avoiding the swinging around of the other dummy, and shot another harsh spell into it’s back.

She stood, out of breath, over the wreckage she made. Black dust, shocked faces, a suffocating silence.

Harry’s blank expression was irritating. She snapped her fingers in front of his face.

He was thrown back to reality. “Well done.” His voice was distant. But it still pleased her to have stunned her peers so. There was power they needed to believe her possible of. “Next?”

Cho Chang stepped up. Her voice was soft. It was not missed by Harry Potter. He was instantly dazzled, a bit flushed, as he challenged her to contend with the dummy.

Hermione lingered toward the back of the class as Cho took her turn. She was not calmed by the sheer expression of power, but she did feel better. The dedication to her plan reset. She knew that it was something she had to follow through with if she ever wanted to feel strong.

The pause in her mind was of the ethical dilemma it presented. It felt wrong to rile his anger. She could confront him in private and either conclude to a decision or remain at war with one another for the rest of their lives.

That wicked beast that Draco had woken did not take to the polite road. It wanted revenge. If she was not to be satisfied, he damn well wouldn’t be either.

A red-haired witch appeared in her gaze; arms crossed at her chest. “Where did you find that tin of whoop-arse? Because I’m quite sure you bought too much.”

Hermione laughed. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You took them down like they were nothing. Kicking them and shit. That was amazing. Terrifying. But amazing.”

“Thank you.”

Ginny watched Hermione for a moment. Her blue eyes perused her friend’s facial expressions with a changing face.

She knew something was up.

Cho Chang shot a spell close to the class. A burst of black and grey dust rained in a heavy cloud through their hair and eyelashes and clothes. Ginny had turned around to observe the commotion. In that instant, Hermione installed a feign expression that abandoned all joylessness thoughts of revenge to a more pleasant, blessed demeanor that they all demanded of her.

The suspicion was lost to the polite claps of encouragement. Ginny shrugged her doubts away.

“Plans for Hogsmeade?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Hermione replied. “I’m spending some time with Daphne before I meet Harry.”

Ginny patted her shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s only taken him five years to admit something to himself. The prat can’t dive into romance all at once. He’ll come round. You’ll see.”

If only she knew just what he’d come around to. If only she knew what Hermione intended to fight his fire with: more fire. It was not the solution a level-headed witch, she knew. But Hermione was not in her right mind. Not with Draco. He was the source of her madness, the loss of control, the loosening grip of sanity to the thrills of the lust.

Hermione proceeded through her week as one expected. She made no explosions. There were no screaming matches in the halls. It was routine.

By the end of it, she wished for a bottle of firewhiskey to drown the struggle it took to reach the place she needed to be without blowing cover. She watched through a pair of eyes that were given the glasses to the truth. The depth beneath a Slytherin.

It was expected of Draco Malfoy. He couldn’t be trusted as far as she could throw him.

But Daphne Greengrass? Her friend? The witch she confided in for everything?

That.

That was painful to endure. She was forced to remain happy and social with the witch who encouraged her own sister to attend a date with Draco, the wizard she knew Hermione’s feelings for almost exactly.

Even worse, she aided his plan! She developed a cover so that Hermione might not discover his date with Astoria.

Daphne was his accomplice. It made sense. All the awkward tension that Hermione mistook for romantical was truly unrest in collusion.

Drogon was the only comfort that helped Hermione navigate her plot. He was patient. He allowed for extra cuddles during those days where she was so stretched thin that she wanted to scream. He kneaded her belly, as some kittens did, to give her a smile. It reminded her of Crookshanks. He loved to knead just about everything.

She laid on her bed with Drogon atop her chest when the shuffling of footsteps caught their ears. His ears perked high. The rumbling of his purrs stopped immediately.

It was no mystery as to who invoked such a response from Drogon. He hopped off the bed and ducked below just as the door swung open. Lavender Brown glided in, books and parchment in hand, a smudge of ink on her chin. She was quiet. That was atypical. Hermione was roused from the lull of thought when it hit her ears.

Her roommate placed her things away delicately. Too delicately. The rolls of parchment were secured in her satchel messenger bag. Two thuds of books echoed throughout the emptiness. Romilda was in the common room talking to some older witches. Pavarti was in the library, tutoring. Fay Dunbar left in her Quidditch gear, so she was bound to be out playing a fun game with her friends somewhere on the grounds. The beaters bat was missing from the end of her bed, as was her broom.

Lavender cleared her throat. Once. Then twice.

“Hermione?” She finally said.

The calm in her voice almost wretched Hermione out of bed.

“What’s wrong? Has something happened to Harry?” Hermione questioned swiftly. Her feet were tossed into her trainers. “Where is he? Hospital Wing?”

The witch shook her head. “Uh, no. No. Nothing’s wrong with Harry.”

“Oh.” Hermione slowed. She sat back on top of her bed. “Good.”

“Ron asked me to Hogsmeade,” Lavender said. When their eyes met, the witch offered a smile. It did not seem to be a bad thing. “Said you told him that I might like it.”

She shifted for comfort. The probing gaze of her roommate ran chills down her spine. Any minute, she was bound to explode in some kind of emotion.

“I overheard Pavarti say it a while ago,” Hermione explained. “It would take a year for Ronald to have noticed. It would have killed you to wait that long.”

A pair of arms and strawberry-blonde plaits were thrown around Hermione’s neck in a tight hug. “Oh, thank you, thank you.” The witch cried out. “All this time I thought you didn’t like me. No way, I thought that you’d ever ask him for me. But I’m so glad that you did. He is so handsome. And funny. I heard him say a joke one day, and I had to cough to hide my laughing.”

It was not uncommon for Lavender to ramble. She liked to talk. A lot.

“He’s invited me for window shopping. Isn’t that sweet? A little simple, but I love it.”

Not that Hermione was happy for her because she honestly did not care for the witch’s overall joy, but she knew it was a moment that she was expected to smile. The witches of Gryffindor did not like those who did not smile. It made them suspicious.

That was one of the great things about Ginny. She understood that Hermione was not an outward person.

She forced a small smile. “Oh. I’m glad to have helped.”

“I take back all that stuff I said about you!” Lavender was so overcome with glee that she did not register just how insulting it might sound. “I’ve got to go find Pavarti and tell her. She’s going to be so rotten jealous.”

Lavender dashed out of the dormitory. The echoes of her quickened pace an applause to Hermione’s ears.

She leaned over the edge of the bed. “Thanks for the warning, you.”

Drogon yowled. Like he could take that tone.

“Don’t you sass me. You heard her coming. I could’ve fit under there with you.”

His small white body emerged from shadow. He shook his head, as if in dismay or doubt. The little limbs of his front stretched out front, his butt hoisted high in the air, the dip in his spine as he yawned.

It was close to his nap time before he readied for the night. She expected him to take his place in his crate at the edge of her bed when all of a sudden, he shot out of sight. The dormitory door was left ajar. It left just enough room for his body to squeeze through.

“What was that about?” She pondered aloud.

She climbed into bed with the question of Drogon’s disappearance on her mind. It wasn’t solved until early in the morning when he finally returned back. The dormitory was pitch black. The only sound was the soft breaths of girl’s snoring, Fay passing gas in her sleep, and Pavarti murmuring in Hindi as she dreamed.

Drogon put his paw against Hermione’s face to awaken her.

She squinted through the darkness. “What?” She groaned.

It was complete black. The fire had long burned out to nothing. She smelled the smoke from the smolder. The scent of ash throughout.

He put his paw against her face again and meowed. His little meow stirred the breaths in the room.

Hermione rose to her elbows, closed the curtains around her bed until they were engulfed in privacy and ignited the end of her wand with ‘Lumos’.

A small package rested within the sheets. Drogon sat. His eyes stared down at the small box adorned with a glittery gold bow. Her brow wrinkled as she caressed the fabric.

“Did you do this?” She asked him.

He shook his head.

That left only one other. Just one.

Her fingers parted the lid from the box where inside the white confines of a box was a necklace of entire silver. At its center rested a crescent moon and crafted within the body of the moon was the star constellation of which she was born under: Virgo. The shimmering stars were microscopic crystals that reflected a sparkly white, just as real stars did.

She pulled it from its box. “A guilt gift.”

The necklace was so beautiful. She was taken with it the moment she touched it. Yet she hated what it meant to come from him, at that time before he betrayed her trust in the ultimate way.

“I should toss it,” she murmured. “It’s tainted.”

Drogon nodded in agreement.

Gah! Why couldn’t he have disagreed? She wanted to keep it. Really, really, bad.

“What if I wear it tomorrow on my date? He won’t like that. I bet that will make him mental.”

Her fingers were filled with tremors as she raised it to her neck. It was taut against the soft flesh of her throat. The moon rested flat against the skin. It’s cool metal, a reminder of what was to be done.

In a way, her collar.

Whatever magic that was held within that tiny necklace proved stronger than her. She drifted into a peaceful sleep after that, not to wake until late morning, with a smile on her face. Her hips grooved as she slipped one of her pills into her mouth, unbothered by their uselessness now that she planned to stab Draco with the knife he left in her back.

She listened to imaginary magic as she glided down for breakfast. The Great Hall was quiet in the typical Saturday morning fashion. Hufflepuffs ate their dishes of Danishes. Their table always boasted a wide spread of pastries. The Ravenclaws were calm as they sipped their tea. Gryffindor was barely lucid. Most were still half asleep. Slytherin was spirited but not rowdy. It was their time to shine.

Draco had made plans to eat breakfast with her since they would go ‘all’ day without seeing one another. Or so he thought. Still, she complied with his wishes. She wore a smile as she took place at his side with the other Slytherins. It did not bother her one bit that Astoria Greengrass was present, closer than normal to him, and a bit green in the face. Not one bit. She feigned innocence as Draco watched her make her tea.

“Good morning, pet,” he greeted.

“Good morning, Draco.”

He smirked. “Awful chipper this morning, aren’t you?”

If he only knew what she had to be chipper about. She gave a twisted grin.

“It is Valentine’s Day.”

His face instantly downturned. “Don’t tell me you buy into all the nonsense. I thought you knew better than that.”

“Are you kidding? I believe in the magic of today.”

“Really?” He snickered. “I wouldn’t wage much on a hidden lover exposing his feelings for you.”

Hermione disliked his doubt in the matter. There were scores of wizards that wanted her. He spent all his time punishing them. Did he not remember that? It was a full-time job as he so declared.

The heat of the tea bubbled against her tongue as she suppressed her snarky comment that would allude to knowledge she was not supposed to have. It helped assert a centered focus. A target, a goal.

“Valentine’s Day is the day of surprises. Anything can happen.”

“I don’t care for surprises.”

She grinned. Of course, he did not. He liked the control. It held him together so tightly firm, and well composed. Today would not be the day for control. Not on his life.

The crisp flakey buttery roll did not distract from the pleasure she felt just knowing what awaited this evening. An entire day of waiting patiently for plans to come to fruition was delightful ecstasy.

If he wanted to train her like an animal, he should have kept an eye on her every move.

Draco lowered his voice. “Speaking of surprises.”

“Yes?” She replied.

“How did you find yours?”

“My what?” She faked confusion.

It was not amusing to Draco. He shifted in his seat.

“The care package I sent last night,” he said firmly.

She fluttered her eyelashes up at him. “I didn’t get any parcel.”

It was just another cruel side dish to the pièce de résistance. She had his gift hidden away in her pocket. That was to satisfy the need for his suffering sooner so that she might remember the pay off for her patience.

“What?” He hissed softly.

“I can check the Tower, but I do not think anything is there.”

He was highly upset by it. “Well go look again. Find it. Look where that bloody cat of yours might have dropped it.”

That was the last she would see of him until their final act at the Three Broomsticks. Daphne was poised right outside in wait. They planned their outing as early as possible. The witch wanted to scour the entire town. All day long.

The smile dropped from Hermione’s face when she saw the blonde witch by the door, bundled up in her winter robes and cloak with a Slytherin scarf wrapped around her neck. Just the thought of the witch formed a knot in the base of Hermione’s belly. The betrayal stabbed deeper than she expected.

Daphne was ignorant to the growing rage. “Ready?” She asked. Her tone so cheerful and light.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

It was not easy to shake off the witch in Hogsmeade. Hermione said she had wanted to visit Harry. It was not a lie. Carefully crafted to separate them from an entire day of being watched by one of Draco’s minions, Hermione set up a meeting with Rita Skeeter and Harry so that they might craft an article that made a more believable story than what the Ministry was intent on publishing.

She wished that the Azkaban breakout and Voldemort’s return were at the forefront of her mind. It deserved more attention. However, she was too drenched in the bloody path that she was set upon that there was no revoking her plan.

After the meeting with Rita, she sneaked back to the castle to ready herself. It was not easy. There were people all around the path back to Hogwarts. She had physically flung herself into a nearby snowbank to avoid Goyle.

She returned to Gryffindor Tower, covered in snow and shivering a little. Her hair was fuzzy. The tip of her nose was Rudolph-red. It was not a brilliant reflection in the mirror. That look would not cause sheer chaos from a wizard.

Hermione slipped into a bath in the Prefect loo. She washed her hair. All her curls were detangled. The smoothing hair potion applied throughout her brown strands. Thick black mascara clung to her eyelashes as she moved the spiked wand through the tiny hairs. It took loads on concentration not to smear the black tar against her face.

She found a shade in the limited collection of colored lip products of her belongings. There was a soft, modest pink. It was too pale. A vibrant shade of pink, almost neon, was in there, too. Ginny had given it as a gift once. The seal was still intact. Again, she shied away from it.

Her fingers landed upon a deep, rosewood red. It was darker than any shade she ever wore. It was close to the burgundy that adorned the common room in Gryffindor Tower. She nearly placed it back and went for clear lip balm, but the vengeful beast inside her chest commanded the lipstick. It slid along the length of her lips with ease.

The reflection changed in the mirror. A stunning witch looked back at her. She was flawless, mysterious, alluring. A true Gryffindor.

Next was the dress. It was ruby red with off-the-shoulder sleeves that left the base of her neck, clavicles and shoulders exposed. The waist cinched close. Hermione touched the mid-thigh hem with a shadow of doubt. It was shorter than she liked to wear. Much shorter.

One look in the mirror convinced her otherwise. She was Hermione Granger, mortal goddess.

Her teeth were brilliant white between the darkness of her lips. A smile transformed her face into that of a model. She was drawn to the image of herself. It was femme fatal. Morgana-esque. Her heart burned with pride at the outcome of her plotting.

The shine of the silver moon caught the candlelight. She smiled as she touched her throat. Draco’s collar at her throat while she saw another wizard was bound to fuel the fire inside him.

She laced up her black heels. Their little bows were knotted against her ankle bones.

It was more than she liked to do. Her worth was not reflective of what she wore. Any witch with a grain of common sense knew an outfit was a costume that only ever aided, but never created their image. Hermione was the master behind her demeanor. If she was to be as ruthless as her plot, she had to assume the role.

“You can do this,” she spoke to herself. “You can do it.”

****

The Three Broomsticks crowd had thinned out. It was a popular place for Hogwarts students to spend their free time. The closer time drew to dark, the less the students perused the town. Their fear of the dark was unfounded, but rather childish.

Draco Malfoy shed the outer coat of his ensemble. It was draped against the back of his chair.

He scowled when he caught sight of the dirty wooden tabletop. A sticky puddle of spilled butterbeer and a beach of bread crumbles was not acceptable.

“Excuse me,” he barked to the woman behind the bar. “Don’t you ever clean this place?”

The woman groaned.

It was not his fault the place was a sty. The least she could do is properly present it for her patrons.

The witch used her wand to douse the top in water, scrub the filth away and blow dry. “Good enough?”

Draco sneered. “Good enough for this place, I suppose.”

He took the seat at the table while he waited. The clock above the door read four twenty. Ten minutes. He hated waiting.

His jaw set on edge. Every minute he stared at the clock face with a sinking frustration. He did not need to be there. There was a witch that waited for him in the castle. The course of an entire day of denying himself to her whereabouts left him agitated. His hands tore through his hair. Its style was nothing like it had been that very morning in the mirror.

Distinct pine was the stench of the common pub. It was far preferable to the salty fish of Hog’s Head.

Best could be done under the circumstances. It was not his arrangement. He would have chosen a more respectable, private place to have a first date. Of course, there were few places in Hogsmeade that earned that title. The bookshop was one of the only passable businesses in the village. That as a date only appealed to one type of witch.

The more he thought of her, the higher the tension climbed his spine. He adjusted his tie at his throat.

Just how late did the witch intend to be? His eyes glared up at the clock. Four twenty-three.

Daphne better have kept Hermione out of any trouble. It was not easy to imagine what the witches did with their day. There was little in Hogsmeade that did not consist of socializing. Socializing with who? Stupid Potter? The brainless Weasel that would hump a rock?

Draco’s knuckles turned white. Again, he looked up at the clock. Little whispers of rebellion whispered up through his thoughts with seductive ideas.

_Go to her. What will she do without you there? Engagement is enslavement. Are you a slave? Those delicious eyes are going to tempt another wizard. What did she buy for herself? Did it bring a smile to her lips? The Dark Lord won’t know if no one tells him. _

He knew the slippery ease of such thoughts. It absorbed his visions, the thoughts of Granger and him. Her soft lips pressed against his as her moans filled the air. The smell of her juices, the slick excitement as his fingers ruptured through the calm, her eyes shuttered close in ecstasy.

Hermione Granger enraptured his senses. Every little thing she did was exciting.

The way she got angry filled his body with excitement to fight against her with his strength and she did her best to use hers. It was never easy. The give and take swayed between them. He liked to overcome her best efforts to repel him. Something in the way her power yielded to his fed the need to control her further.

The victory of her love did things to him that were nothing short of ecstasy of the highest kind.

Now, she was too constant in his life to abandon. The melody of her voice was a tune he listened to every day without fail sang in her thoughts of recent readings. Her brown eyes when they beheld him when she thought he wasn’t looking. So open and filled with admiration. Then there was way she allowed him to touch her.

The things they did in the darkened corners of everyone’s vision was enough to keep him coming back. Her acceptance of his touch was instant. The connection they forged linked them. She assumed the status of his pet, touched him with the same love of pleasure as he did to her, and warranted the same need for him.

He knew, deep in his heart, that she was not interested in a single person other than him. Draco was the one that she held loyal to. And his mind trusted, no. Knew. He knew she would never allow another wizard to take his place.

Draco Malfoy wondered what the tension in their separation was, as he knew there would never be a wizard daft enough to try it and Granger, herself, would never be interested. Still, he felt that her absence was a giant black void that needed fixing. She belonged. Every day, every moment, she was meant to be with him.

It was hours since he heard from her. Goyle and Crabbe hadn’t seen her either. They looked throughout Hogsmeade for Daphne and for Hermione.

Not that those two blind idiots focused on a thing except Honeydukes. They spent enough time in there to buy the bloody place.

He held his chin in his hand. If Astoria did not arrive in two minutes, he would leave.

Wherever she was, he knew how to find her. His feet led paths to her that his mind could not understand. The absorption of her soul in his was the compass he used without thought, or attempt. It was his true north.

The plan never set into action. At four thirty on the nose, Astoria Greengrass strode through the heavy door of The Three Broomsticks pub, found Draco’s eyes through the crowd of patrons, a fair few being their own peers, and traversed the rows until she found her way to his table.

She was nervous. Her face, paler than usual.

Astoria wore a mustard yellow knit jumper with a plaid pleated skirt. It brushed against her kneecaps, covered in sheer white tights below. There were flats on her feet. Their shiny emblems of their make from the most expensive of retailers.

Her hands were clasped in front of torso. She remained silent as he appraised her.

“Please,” he said. He’d forgotten how gentle Astoria was. She seemed afraid of him. That was not his intent to appeal to the witch. “Join me.”

The top half of her hail was knotted at the crown of her head. A few strands framed her small face. She brushed them aside as she sat down, her handbag clutched against her person.

It was clear that Astoria Greengrass would become a stunning witch. Her looks were already angelic, in manner and application. She wore a kind expression. Her eyes were a soft blue, unable to pierce a peach.

Draco shifted. The initial plan to declare his disinterest in courtship with her was not the course that he wanted to take now that she was before him. He thought she might cry. She looked that it was easy to puncture that sensitive flesh. It was a witch’s embarrassment to be rejected by a wizard. A pureblood witch would bear the identity of their denial forever. Being turned down by a Malfoy was a devastating blow.

A sliver of charm was needed to allow the witch to understand the idea, gently.

“I know we’ve not met properly,” he started. “I’m Draco Malfoy.”

She gave a small smile. “Astoria. You can call me Tori. Everybody does.”

“Is that what you wish?”

“I prefer, Astoria, actually,” she said. “Until we – well, we know each other better.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

A dinner rush started through the pub. A steady hum of the room filled their ears. Dishes clattered against tables, mugs of butterbeer with shots of firewhiskey, too.

Townsfolk filtered in through the front door. It was just out of the corner of Draco’s eye. He noticed the uptick in patrons as time drew near the meal time. It was his goal to return to Hogwarts before dinner was done with so that he might have more time to find Granger.

A student adorned in blue hues entered the door. Eddie Carmichael was his name. Draco recognized him from around the castle.

“Can I buy you something, Astoria? A hot cocoa, some chips perhaps?”

“I’d like a cup of tea, if it isn’t a bother.”

He rose from his seat. Having the order delivered to their table was unlikely since the witch hadn’t liked his critique on her cleaning ability. The bar was not too far. A few wizards sat on the bar stools with their hands on glasses. They spoke amongst themselves. Not too many people of the town interacted with the students of Hogwarts.

Draco was glad for it. Their small town minds were of no interest to him

The witch behind the counter was not eager to take his order but did with the flash of a coin. As she worked on the cup and his butterbeer, he examined the bar. There was a group of a few older students with trays of the muck of food offered at The Three Broomsticks. He upturned his nose.

The heavy door of the pub opened once more, slammed against the frame, as a pair of footsteps trekked past the bar. Draco caught sight of the wizard of his own house as he walked by, not noticing Draco against the bar, and took a private booth in the corner of the pub.

Higgs was not often the lonely type. He surrounded himself with a pack of obnoxious friends to fill content silence with his idiotic ramblings.

Something was different. Higgs chose a darker part of the place. A seat away from the rest of the students there.

It was not a leap to assume it was a date. The privacy, the dim that could cloud a kiss from the others, the nervous way his fingers drummed against the tabletop. Draco chuckled. The prat was bound to be a virgin with that behavior.

Draco Malfoy might have been a virgin, but he gave off the air that he was well skilled with witches. He did not hesitate, nor fidget. And as much as he wanted to take a seat to watch the train wreck take place, he had a witch to return to.

He carried Astoria’s cup back to the table with his mug linked through his fingers. “One cup of tea.” The ceramic was set against the top. Her hands moved with caution around the body.

Her voice hummed a soft thanks. It was a lost tone in the wave of voices throughout.

It was silent between them. They drank from their own glass without a word to express to the other.

The date was moving at a snail’s pace. Time ticked away at his chance to spend time with Hermione. She was bound to be sneaking off with her bleeding wizards again.

“My mother said that your mother’s Christmas Eve party was the best event of the year. It was all very beautifully decorated,” Astoria said. “You’ll have to give her our best.”

He nodded. “Thank you. My mother’s parties are always the event of the season.”

The fell to a lull again. It was difficult to find something to say to the witch that was so much younger than him. Daphne was right. Astoria was inexperienced. She had no idea what to do with a wizard like him.

They were not to be.

“Astoria.”

“Can I tell you something?”

He blinked a moment. “Sure.”

As her mouth moved, words came out. He knew that. What they were was harder to riddle, because just as Astoria had spoken whatever it was that she wanted said, a flash of red caught the corner of his eye and his attention. It was in a shape that he thought he recognized.

The figure of a witch entered the pub. She shed her heavy cloak with a striped Slytherin scarf off her shoulders. Her body was dressed in a taut dress that hugged her features, over her hips and the slim of her waist. There was a lack of support in her chest as she moved. Her small breasts were freed from the confines of a bra.

A wizard approached from the back of the pub. Higgs offered out a hand. Her cloak was handed over. There was an awkward shift as he pointed to the scarf.

A pair of brown eyes appeared from the shield of brown curls. They sparkled alive as the scarf was pulled from her shoulders. A silver mood necklace against her neck.

Draco nearly let out an exclamation when he recognized the witch as his own.

His body tensed. His eyes refused to pull from the encounter. The light hairs of his brows topped his vision as he watched her move into Higgs’ gesture. The broad expanse of her back was exposed in her dress. Where the hell did she get that from?

The entire pub of wizards noticed her. A sea of lustful gazes, all over her.

He nearly threw himself out of his seat as Higgs put his hand against the small of her back but a soft handheld his wrist. Astoria was still there. Her face fixed in confusion. Her mouth moved with the question if he was alright.

“I’m fine,” he said, entirely too loud.

Draco looked back, right into the expectant eyes of a witch with whom he shared eye contact with often. They glanced back behind him. The sharp knowing gaze of just how much Hermione knew. Her lips curled to a too-happy smile when Higgs asked her something. She nodded. Two fingers rose as a response. Butterbeers!

He pulled at the collar, already too taut for comfort. His heart raced. The growing ache in his jaw pushed through his thoughts but was shoved and kicked back into submission.

All that mattered was Hermione Granger was there on a date dressed as the world’s most irresistible witch for the entire village to gaze at. Their simple-minded drool was an insult. Didn’t they know who she was?

His breath went ragged as she was lost to the crowd. Draco ripped his hands through his hair.

Two full butterbeers. Drunk. She would be drunk. Drunk, dressed like that, with a wizard she hardly knew. One, more importantly, that wasn’t him.

“She’s quite amazing, you know.”

He shook the daze from his head. “What?”

“Hermione Granger. She is… one of a kind.”

That she was.

One of a kind, and all his.

Draco Malfoy was overcome with a series of rapid fire emotions all from the source of anger that swirled around her. She was everything. She was his. She was a thing untouched by all, protected by him, the very essence of what he loved about being himself and who he saw as the one to make him happy.

Then there was Higgs. The charming, soft allure of a wizard too set upon being liked that he forgot what it meant to be powerful.

What did he compare to Draco? Nothing. Not a shred. He was a forgotten wizard in the middle of a memorable world.

Draco stomped back to the shared booth. He froze when he saw what was in that booth.

Higgs was on one side, his pet on the other. Ever so slowly, Higgs reached over and brushed a curl out of her face. His fingers lingered too long against her face.

Whatever possessed him to raise his wand was unstoppable.

“Stupefy!” Draco cried.

It caught the gazes of the entire establishment as the spell shot out from the end of his wand toward the booth. His eyes blazed with fury. All he saw was the blood red sight of Higgs with his witch.

The spell was stopped just in time. Higgs was wide-eyed, wand in front of his face.

Hermione’s breath was rapid in her chest. She seemed to know the source of the spell. Her eyes flickered over to where he stood in accusation. There was very clear anger in her eyes as they danced together.

When she looked back to her date, he struggled to restrain a scream.

“Malfoy. What the bloody hell, mate?” Higgs jumped from his seat.

He shot the spell again. It was lucky how fast Higgs was with his wand. He moved to block the spell just as swiftly.

“I told you to stay away from her,” Draco spat. “Rictusempra.”

A flurry of spells shot through. Draco expelled them; Higgs blocked. They moved, just as in a duel. Their feet danced in a circle. The thundering beneath their feet from the rapid flee from the pub. Their sounds a distant memory to their ears.

It was quick. Their power shot through the place, back and forth, back and forth.

At one point, Hermione audibly gasped. The stupid Higgs didn’t know what was good for him. He called out to her, asking if she’d been hit and although Draco knew she hadn’t been hit, he glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes pleaded with his to stop. Their brown beauty swirled with upset.

Higgs caught him with a hex. His knees turned to Jell-O. He was unable to stand.

“I win, Malfoy. I win.” Terrence Higgs took a deep sigh. “It is time to stop fighting. She’s done with you. You have to let it go.”

Let it go?

Did he know what delirium she gave? Did he know just what her lips did to him when they were through? The taste of her tongue, a delicacy. The thrill of her pure emotion as she fought against you. It was enough to die over.

It took resilience to the pain over his joints, but Draco managed to climb to his feet and tackled the unsuspecting wizard with his body. They both slammed to the floor. An echoing thud of their bodies.

Higgs fought to climb on top of Draco. His legs wrapped around Draco’s body to lock him in place. But his arms were not stronger. The use of his Quidditch developed muscles did nothing to make him quicker to the punch. Draco slammed his fist into the side of Higgs’ chin with a decided grunt.

To his credit, the wizard did not stop. Higgs found his own fists and punched into Draco’s line of fire without care of where they landed: the ribs, the face, the arm. It took great effort to withhold their pain. Draco gritted his teeth as he sought to control his limbs. He took a knee, pinned it tightly against Higgs’ shoulder, and slammed his fist once more into the wizard.

A sharp crunch of bone, the warm spray of red, the weakening of the body beneath him.

“Looks like you don’t know just what’s at stake, Higgs. There is never enough fight when it comes to her,” he muttered as he released Higgs’ collar. Blood was all over his hands. He wiped the hot crimson down the front of his suit.

Hermione held her hands over her face. She looked at the blood across the floor. Her eyes were wide with terror.

“Surprised at the depths I’ll go to, pet?”

He took hold of Hermione’s wrist, wretched it close to his body without hope of her escape and turned to leave. “No.” She said under her breath. They fought over her wrists. “We have to help him. We have to help.” She struggled with him. Her hands fought hard. They pulled away, yanked him off his balance more than once. He sucked breath between his teeth at the pain that rose from such actions.

Draco had a stronger strength to his hands. They gathered the pair of her wrists in one strong grip that he pulled tight until a sharp gasp of pain escaped her lips. It was small concession in the scheme of things. He pulled her through a side door of the pub, kicked through to the back of the building out of the public eye and rushed through the alley.

It was dusk. The threat of darkness upon them. A commotion was at the front of The Three Broomsticks. A gathering of their startled voices and confusion left him much need to disappear.

Hermione huffed beside him. The surrounding repetition of her resistance in his ear as they navigated through the filthy alleyway. Her effort to pull her arms away was nothing to the power of his rage. At times, her feet dragged in the effort to become an anchor to his efforts.

Draco growled. He pulled her wrists behind his neck, bent and lifted her body atop his shoulder.

“Let go of me.” She hit her elbows against his back. “Get your hands off of me.”

She struggled every moment harder. Each blow landed a larger fury inside that was on edge to coming out.

He pulled out his wand and turned it on her. “Silencio!”


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**The Claim**

The sound of the village was in the distance. A darkening winter evening surrounded the forest. A soft white moon shined in the sky as witness to their lonely journey while sunlight dissipated toward the horizon. The only sound she heard was his breath as it struggled for control. Draco carried her across his back. Their destination, a mystery to her.

Hermione was incapable to making a sound. Still, as tears dribbled down her cheeks, she beat against his back in resistance.

It was all wrong. She smelled Terry’s blood on him. The hot iron left a disgusting taste in her mouth with just the scent alone. He’d fought Terry just to steal her off into the night, angry and vengeful at her as if she was the only guilty party.

He was the one on a date!

She started to kick her feet wildly. Draco’s hold on her thighs slipped. She dropped to the ground, finally free.

Her hands fought through her clothes to find her wand buried inside since it was of muggle design. Draco was quicker. Fingernails dug into her shoulders as he pushed her backward, back farther into the shadows of the forest until there was nothing behind her but a large tree trunk. His arms trapped her there. No where else to go without his say.

Fury radiated off him in waves. It was palpable through the air. The tension in his shoulders and the clouds of his breath only told of the rising beast within his control, bound to tear through that barrier and ruin her.

“What were you doing there?” He spat through gritted teeth. “What were you doing there with _him_?”

She struggled against his touch as he grasped the sides of her face. His eyes drilled through her skin. Their gaze unsatisfied until they were met with hers.

There was heat in his expression, just as much as she believed was in hers.

“I would have killed him. Do you understand? Killed him.”

Hermione broke their eye contact. She stared out into the emptiness of the trees. Pain spread through her cheeks as he wretched her back to his examining gaze. It was filled with expectation, as he expected her to be just as he thought of her, an obedient pet to come at his beck and call, without thought of herself or the hurt he inflicted without the slightest care for her wellbeing.

It was not true. She was not a pet. She was a beast, a feral animal, just tamed enough to companionship. There was a level of trust extended to him. As soon as he turned on her, he should have expected claws to tear him apart.

Draco forgot who she was. He forgot what it meant to tangle with beasts.

He was against her. The bark of the tree scratched her cold skin, tearing little red lines throughout her pretty complexion. She wiggled her hips, struggling beneath the weight of his full body. Her hands clenched the shoulders of his shirt. The tear of fabric rippled through the unending silence.

Draco let out a strangled whimper. “Why would you do that, huh? How could you do that to me? Do you get wet with anyone now? Is that it?”

Her hands slapped his face. Hard. The length of her fingers stung against the cold air.

Bound to silence was the worse torture she could imagine. Her vocal cords burned with need. He was able to demonize her without return of just what he had done to her. She was due her fight. That much she knew. Tears poured from her eyes. The cold trails dripped down to the edge of her chin.

Scottish winters were fierce and frigid. She wore a cocktail dress with little beneath. The fibers were pierced with the reaching frost quicker than her tears dropped to the surface.

Draco held his breath. The taut grip on her face gave the unrelenting choice to watch him suffer through betrayal just as she had done privately over the week. First the numb of shock. It was easiest to endure. Then the darkness of sadness on the rowboat, closer and closer, growing with each stroke through the waters of memory.

The heat of rage came last. It was by far most powerful.

Eventually she crumbled to the constant pounding of curiosity. Her eyes pulled from the distant gaze to find his. Through the faint light she noticed the line of water.

She narrowed her eyes. All her strength was poured into her expression that would not cease until the power to speak was released back to her.

Draco gripped the sides of her face tighter. His forehead leaned forward. The raw intensity of his features cut through to her gut as she watched the anger transform before her eyes.

He found his wand. It raised to her face. Her heart sped, but not with question. She knew that he was not there to physically hurt her. Only mentally torture, which seemed a personal favorite of his.

“Finite Incantatem,” he mumbled.

Sounds suddenly burst from her lips. It felt good to have the sensation back to her throat and tongue again. Instant relief from that horrible spell.

His eyes found hers through the relief. Their lock brought a silence that swarmed from beneath the trees. It was deafening.

There was a weight to break through the still. It pushed against their chests.

Draco’s grey eyes stormed with the want of her voice that she could visibly see his need leech through his flesh. They dipped down. A pause in his features as he gazed at her neck. The sting fell away from her cheeks as his hold on her loosened.

“My necklace.” A warm finger prodded the tender flesh of her throat where the cold metal burned into her.

“My collar, you mean.”

“You told me - .”

“Yeah, and you told me that you’d stay at Hogwarts. Guess we both know how to lie, don’t we?” She snapped.

His hands suddenly slammed into the tree bark near her head. “You think another wizard could take my place, pet? A man like Terrence Higgs might match a man like me? You do remember just what you are, don’t you? Mine. My pet. I’m your wizard. Me. Not that lowlife. You think he could replace me?”

“Do you think Astoria could replace me?” Her voice demanded. It was so filled with venom she thought for a moment Pansy was out in those woods. Alas she was the only witch with the power to cut through his precious ego. “Or did you just believe she the more acceptable pureblood match for you?”

He was shocked to silence. The quaking anger in his fist shoved to his pockets as he paced in front of her.

“Who told you?” He finally demanded.

“Do you mean what one of your pawns failed at their job to distract me?”

“Yes!” He shouted. “Yes. Which one of them do I have to sink to the bottom of the lake. Now tell me just how large of boulders I’ll need.”

She shook her head. An urge to spit at his feet lurched up through her disgust.

Her silence did not sit well with him. The crunch of his shoes through the snow was sharp as he stomped back to the tree. One hand shot out. It latched at the sides of her throat. He held her there against the tree with his face near against hers. Just the ghost of his lips touched her cheeks when he spoke.

“You will obey me, pet. You will heel to my say so whether you like it or not.” A tense pressure formed at the base of her neck. It did not stop her breath. “Now, tell me which one of those whom I trusted with great importance to watch you while I tended to one tiny little thing? Hm?”

He wasn’t the only one who was angry! He wasn’t the only one entitled to betrayal!

“Tell me,” he said.

Her jaw clenched tight.

“Tell me!” He repeated.

She peered at him through narrow eyes. How little he was to her.

Something in Draco broke. His voice turned to a roar as it echoed through the trees. “Tell me!”

“Astoria!” She finally shrieked. “Astoria was the one that told me.”

The fingers inside her neck loosened. Instead they hanged around like the necklace.

“You’re lying.”

“I am not,” she spat. “She was upset, bullied by Pansy, alone. You were too obsessed with me to notice those of your own house. You’ve lost sight. You’re losing.”

To say it was easy to shock Draco Malfoy would be a fallacy. The wizard was prepared for everything. He took it all in stride. But he was moved by her words so much, he had to retreat away.

He paced through the snow. The silver light of the moon showered down through the treetops. It was easy to see him through the darkness of shadow. His ghostly aura around him as a fallen angel.

In another time, she would have been attracted to the fiery wild gaze in his eye, the glow of his hair in the pale light, the darkness and isolation of the trees without a soul to find them. Her body wouldn’t have minded the nature as backdrop for the first time her body was used with the purpose of pleasure. The echoes of their sounds as they joined together would have made a beautiful music amongst the trees.

“You!” Draco stopped in his worn path. The dirt of the ground a dark stain amongst the pristine white of the snow. “You let another wizard touch you. You wore, something like that, out. For everyone to see!”

“You started a courtship with another witch! After everything, after you knew I loved you.”

The sharp edge of his jawline sharpened with the taut pull of tension. “_Loved?_” Animation came to his body as it shifted and tensed. “No. No, no. That better have been a slip of the tongue.”

She wasn’t sure what stabbed her heart, but when his Adam’s apple wiggled beneath his flesh, it hurt more than what she gave credit to in her revenge scheme. She’d allowed herself to believe that the sweet release of when she saw him in his own lie that she would no longer feel strongly for him. Stockholm Syndrome was a faint fairytale that she yearned to be true. Her mind might’ve crafted him as a delusion, the manifestation of her sacrifice for her best friend.

Now that the moment hit her. It did not feel true.

“You still love me,” he said. The confidence waived. Ever so slight.

A tear squeezed from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away with a shrug. “I don’t know.”

Draco physically recoiled. The inner corner of his eyebrows raised. Both corners of his mouth fell down into the long lines of wrinkles.

He was able to muster a soft whisper of resistance. “No. No. That’s not true.”

Did she look like she was just some soft witch that would agree with him?

She had been leaned against the body of the tree. Her feet tipped forward. Fingers pushed against the bark to standing. Her brows were down, forehead taut with expression. There was not hesitation enough to stop her from confronting him in ways that he always deemed necessary to confront her.

There was little than a meter between them. The clouds of his breath spanned the distance between them, in their standoff.

“You don’t care. You never did.” She swallowed. “You don’t give a damn about me.”

Draco gasped. “All this time, I watch you. You’re the only one I ever see.”

How much she’d longed for those words, how long she waited.

Pictures of him with the perfect little witch on their date pierced her pleasure. Astoria, the pureblood perfection, was who he had chosen to be interested. The complete opposite of Hermione. If he truly cared, why would he pick someone like her.

“And her. Do you see her too?”

His eyes turned hardened, with resolve or that cunning falsity that was his nature. A deceiver of all truths.

“_She. _She is nothing to me. I’ve not had the burn in my balls for months now because of her. Nor have I known the taste of her mouth or the touch of her hands on my cock. The piercing of my pride every other day by _her _lips, now have I?”

The awakening of her beast proved more powerful than the dormant month it had been expected to wait. It burned. The stretch through her bones was stronger than her doubt.

It was not her nature to stop. Draco was not a wizard of choice. He was a man to be conquered and claimed.

Her heart ached for the violence he used to steal her away from Terry, but the longer the image replayed within her mind, the deeper the claws of her desire sank through her flesh. It was his own desire that brought him past the edge of her control. He had been reminded of just what he’d lose if she left his grasp.

All blame was to be placed upon his shoulders. She just reacted the way circumstance demanded. Terry was a pawn that left Draco insecure in his strength to hold her, and the wizard served just the way she wanted. The blood was on Draco’s hand. She merely reaped the benefits of it.

She watched the strength in his stance. A sharp edge of his jawline cut through her own resistance in that way those stormy eyes undressed her. He’d been so angry. The tension in his throat as he fought Terry to the floor, all too muggle for his expensive suits.

Hermione licked her lips. The cold no longer burned her flesh. It comforted the heat through her veins as lust in his intoxicating scent ravaged her insides. Each tight piece of her loosened.

He made a devil out of her once. She might as well truly ruin him for all those pureblood witches.

“Then prove it,” she said.

His brows raised. “Prove it?”

Gryffindor chose her well. Though she felt the tremble in her fingers as she grasped the metal zipper, it remained steady enough to split the back of her dress. The sleeves fell loose against her flesh.

Draco’s eyes doubled in size as he watched each motion in gracious fear. It troubled him how calm she was. She, on the other hand, was hot. The red fire swallowed.

“Show me just how committed you are to keeping a pet,” she breathed. “You do want me, don’t you?”

The sudden expanse of his trousers convinced her she hit the mark. It was time to use his arousal to her advantage.

“You know I do,” he answered hollowly.

The neckline of her dress fell past her breasts. Her dark nipples, puckered and aching from the chilly wind, were the one blemish throughout her creamy flesh. And his eyes knew. He watched them grow harder as his attention on her bare chest excited her further. She’d never been naked in front of somebody before.

Draco swallowed. The tension still within his throat.

He dared take a step forward with the setting cloud through his mind. Lust started residence within his castle. It opened the gates of himself. She watched it fall at her feet with the welcoming parade. He tapped the knot at his throat. The tie was bound to be strangling him.

Her eyes fluttered up to his face. “Allow me.”

She crossed the little distance between them and laced her fingers through the tied fabric until the length of her fingers rested between the tie and his throat. Their eyes caught. The need in hers matched the utter desire within his. She lifted her lips toward his, breathing in the hot exhale of his throat like a shot of whiskey she knew would be the last of her, and used the last bit of clarity to pull the tension of his tie away from the place where he needed less pressure.

It was his lips that captured hers in a breathy kiss. His tongue slipped through their barrier with surprising vigor, delving through and leaving no place, not even the back of her throat, untouched by the slick pink tongue.

His mouth abruptly wretched away from her. “I can’t.”

A shuddered breath flavored the air with his fear. Hermione gulped it with greed.

Draco’s eyes dipped down. His eyes roamed the expanse of her chest, viewing her breasts and the excited heave of her lungs as she waited for his blessed release of control to the wiles of urge. The cold of his hand cupped her breast. It was startling, not in temperature but in softness.

The muscles of her legs quivered. His thumb swirled against her nipple. She was surprised by the arousal that bled down from that touch.

“Love me.” Her mouth exhaled a soft whimper.

“I-I-I can’t.”

“Malfoy’s make the rules. Isn’t that what you said?” She brought her kiss against the divots of his neck. The pounding pulse vibrated her lips. “You can do what you want.”

He shuddered, again. The warmth of his fingers against her flesh tingled in their path around her breaths, up her throat, to the side of her face. They pulled her away from his person. “Is this what you want?”

He thrust his lips into hers. Her breath swallowed by his mouth, the shock straight from her lungs to his.

Her hands ran along his sides. The taut hold of his waistband made it impossible to slip her hands inside his trousers. His cock pressed through. It rubbed against her body as he grinded against her.

Their faces ripped away when the threat of fainting became more urgent. Draco’s face was beet red. His breaths were uneven, shaking.

“Does it matter?” She asked.

He brought his touch along the height of her cheekbone. “Very much so.”

Hermione allowed herself a glance at his beauty. It was etched with indecision. The fall of his touch went to an empty waist. Her dress hanged from her hips, hallway off her form. The height of her thong knickers were visible at her hip bones with dense red lace.

She grasped the hand at her face. “You’ve taken my heart. Why not take this too?”

“Because… it is not my place.”

“It is if I’m your pet.”

His face curled to a disgusted sneer. “Even you don’t buy all that. I know you don’t.”

She pulled his hand downward below her bellybutton. His fingers stretched. Below the fabric they moved as a snail’s pace. The hollow core of her body not much farther in descent. Their eyes remained locked as he touched the virgin skin of her body, unseen by everyone.

Flutters crossed her belly. Her breath caught when his fingers animated with touch. One grazed the top of her pussy, with or without purpose, and she whimpered with anticipation.

A grin flickered across his lips. A single finger slid down through her lips. The gush in her knickers brought a moan from her lips as her mind imagined what he might do with his fingers.

Her eyes fluttered open at his probing expression. The question still in his mind. Should he?

“Are you so convinced?” She moaned. “Do I not seem to want it?”

Draco was drawn into her visible excitement. The dripping wet at his hand encouraged the roaming of her sex with each finger spreading through her tissues like a growing flower meant to ravish her.

Her hand clenched the fabric of his shoulder when the small tip of his finger parted her, primed for entrance.

His other hand raised to the base of her throat. It lifted the haze of ecstasy her mind wished to surround itself with, and raised her gaze.

Was there trust enough to let him have that kind of power over her?

“Once I start, I won’t stop.”

It was meant to warn her. All it did was confirm.

“I’m not stopping you,” she answered.

Again, she moaned at his teasing. He barely touched the aching parts of her body. The raised bud of her clit twitched. Every brush over top the flesh that did not press right into that good spot meant to crumble her to nothing.

It burned her with frustration. “Just touch me,” she demanded.

He grinned. His fingers suddenly thrust up into her body. Her legs opened wide. It was harder to stand straight. He’d use his fingers, then rub her clit with vigor until she would just see the end when his touch would slow down again. He’d growl at her frown.

“Wipe that look off your face, Hermione. I want those pretty lips open. Let me see your tongue.”

The steady swirling of his thumb had her head thrown back, lips wide open, with wave after wave in unnamed desciption rippled through her body. Her toes fought against the straps of her heels when the pleasure brought a toe-curling need to her feet. His hold tensed. She remained fixed in a single position as his fingers worked in and out of her, expanding and shallowing in their thrust and thickness with each pump of his hand.

The stiff grip against her throat had her instinctually excited. Every moan was stifled just a tiny amount.

Draco lifted a smirk. His eyes flickered downward. A devilish look glinted the corner of his eye. He flicked the loose hanging of her breasts, sharp pain in her nipple, and she winced for the expected sting but was in disbelief at the pleasure it gave. Her eyes rolled back.

“Do you like that, pet?”

She bit her lips and nodded. “I love it.”

More than anything, she wanted that body to be just as naked as she was. His torso was a work of art. Defined muscles with deep grooves in between each one, a riverbed just the perfect size for her tongue.

His face leaned close. “Do you love me?”

A power was in his gaze now. She could not turn away. The hand at her throat kept her straight. She was forced to show her embarrassment as she confirmed just what he wanted to know. His eyes were witnesses to everything she felt as it crossed through her expression. “Be careful in your answer. Very careful. My need for you will only grow.”

The need to be that one witch, the one that Draco needed as air and breath and water and rest. The intoxicating drug it was spoiled her thoughts with lust. Her insides shivered.

His hands continued to shag her in endless repetition as he awaited answer. Thoughts were difficult to balance when all she wanted was his cock to be the one inside her.

Draco Malfoy was a threat to many things. He threatened the safety of her friends, the Order, life at Hogwarts as fair as it could be. He’d blackmailed her and hurt her, more than once. His mind kept her surrounded with safety, deflected wizards away with muscle and then punished the ones that didn’t heed his words. He was out of his mind protective and controlling, possessive and a total wanker. Everything he did was irritating.

And yet, Hermione couldn’t help but be aroused by him. There were pieces let through his tough exterior. He gave her Drogon and that necklace and wouldn’t take her virginity without being convinced to do so.

She loved the way he was easy to frustrate. The slippery nature of his tongue brought a smile in more than one way. Her heart sped when he was around, and when he smiled, she was so satisfied with herself that she would miss half the lecture because of it.

The world was hard outside the castle. It was not viable. The pair of them were fire and petrol. Neither should have found the other so appealing. Not in a thousand centuries.

The truth was in plain sight whether she wanted to realize it or deny.

“I do,” she whispered.

Draco wasted no time to toss his coat to the ground, pushed her atop it, and started ripping the dress off her hips. It was with so much force that the sharp tension set in her jaw as the fabric ripped apart. His pace never slowed. The buttons of his shirt pulled from their hold and exposed the bare of his torso.

The clink of his belt and the release of his breath knotted Hermione’s nerves. Her belly hardened.

She laid there on the ground as cold wet seeped in through the fibers and thus onto the surface of her body. A bare expanse of evening sky shined above. The lessening color was a beautiful backdrop to the image of his determination above her, an arm on either side of her body, trapped to surrender release onto his cock as he demanded it of her.

He lowered his chest to hers. Moist lips dragged down her neck. A stiff pressure grinded against her pussy with the intent to plunge through, the only wait in its pace was the attention at her face.

Lowered to his elbows better enabled a hand knotted within her hair. It had their faces locked together. Grey and brown swirled. Thrill tortured their lungs, whether to breathe or hold.

It wasn’t until her hands slipped beneath the cover of his shirt to the depths of his torso, gripped each one of his shoulders and dug her fingers into his flesh that the stiff pressure grew harder into the slit of her pussy. The tip turned slippery with all her juices. He kissed harder into her embrace.

Draco thrust into her slowly, savoring each depth, amazed by her face as it changed with each new motion. His cock parted through the uncharted waters of her sex as an explorer, the pure satisfaction in his own smile as his cock was welcomed to a slippery warm place. He thrust in her once more. The length that entered her had her pushed deeper into that snow. Slush and water cascaded down the length of his coat as it was overtook with the ravages of winter, and neither moved away. Lost in each other’s rutting passion.

Her legs were wide open to him. The slender lengthy body between them, atop her. A shining moon watched as the two sucked and kissed and pulled at each other’s bodies. Nothing threatened to take them away, but their minds focused on the claim. The claim of the body joined with theirs.

His grunts with each harsh slap of his skin against hers fueled the twisting burn in her belly. She was in awe. The hardened glaze, his attention now focused on how hard he was able to make her tremble. He brought his hand between her legs to rub against the special place she showed him and had her squealing beneath his touch.

Draco rose to his knees, all while his place inside her remained. Her body was taken by the cold air. Nipples in the most agony at their forgotten importance.

She gripped her breasts as she watched his bare body pierce hers. It was hot. Her body erupted with another gush of white. The line of her naked form before his to ravish as he did had her body tensed in every joint.

His hands thudded the ground. The platinum strands clouded her eyes.

He growled against her ear. The hot breath warmed the frozen sound. “Just remember who owns you. Remember whose cock has been through this pussy the next time another wizard touches you.” Her breath caught between all the moans. It was hard to breath; sensation filled her mind. The echoing sound of their physical bodies entangled with the desires of primal animals in rut. “I’ll own you every night if I have to. Is that what you want?”

Her eyes shuddered close. She was only able to nod.

His body pushed higher through her slick wet. It pushed against a part that sent instant shivers throughout her thighs.

The storm grey eyes watched her body writhe beneath him with a smirk. “Good, pet. Good girl. See if you can do it again.”

It became a game of how much she might quake and cry out in total ecstasy. His hand reached out and grasped one of her nipples.

“Oh my Godric,” she groaned. Her hands started to crawl away. It was all so good and so much.

“No, you don’t,” Draco growled. His hands dug deep into her hips. “You’ll not go anywhere until you’ve finished all over me. I want those juices on my cock so that I might smell you when I sleep and when I wake, those lovely knickers of yours in my hand. These are mine now.”

Their lace dangled above her eyes. Her jaw fell open. From the rough forcing of his body against hers that vibrated throughout the folds of her flesh, not just the hole he buried himself inside of, she was incoherent. All she was able to do was relish the length of his cock.

“They’re yours.” She gasped out. His pace quickened. She felt the growing hardness tipping the scales of the tightness of her belly. She was going to explode.

Her arms shot out. Her fingers clenched to fists in the snow.

One thrust sent her over the edge. All at once, liquid pleasure leaked from her limbs down to the point of her climax. Her throat groaned and moaned. Everything turned sensitive. The muscles of her pussy tensed with a newfound sensation. Sparkles glinted in her eyes.

Another moment, Draco was back on top of her. His mouth pressed against hers, breathing in her breathy moans and shrill cries as his cock continued to push into her in post-orgasm tenderness.

The flesh of his shoulders was punctured by her nails, a fact that made him cry out. His body suddenly went still. A seeping hot filled her pussy. She felt the contents of his cock emptied into her body as his claim of what he’d done to her. It was bound to be there for days. His marking. The spill of Malfoy inside her pretty, muggleborn pussy.

Lucius would throw a fit if he knew what his son had done to her. Hell, the whole world would.

She was limp upon the ground. Draco, limp atop her.

Their breaths were deep and exhausted. A shag required more energy than she gave credit. Her mind was cleared, bloody brilliantly. She dragged a finger down the back of his ear, the length of his neck as his face buried into her bare chest.

She’d done it. Draco was hers now. His flesh might have marked her with his seed, but she, too, laid claim upon him. Not only was his mind, hers. Another witch never stood a chance with him. They’d know. They’d smell it on him. His betrayal to all their precious pureblood beliefs by laying with a muggleborn would show just as clearly as his hatred melted away, little by little, she’d chip away at that darkness. It covered light. In that time, he’d be hers. All to herself.

Draco stirred. His energy restored, albeit slowly. He raised to his elbows.

“Tell me again,” he whispered. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Draco.”

It completed whatever he constructed within his mind. He placed a gentle kiss upon her lips, and then hopped up to dress. It was fast until he was fully dressed, impeccable in his style, as he always was. He helped Hermione to her feet, proceeded to help her back into her own outfit, but stole the pair of knickers. They were stuffed within his pocket.

Again, he kissed her. A finger tapped against the necklace at his throat with a subtle smile before they made their way back to the castle.

“What do you want them for?” She asked. “They’re ladies underpants.”

“They’re yours,” he corrected. “And I want them.”

“But what for?”

He smirked. “Just in case I start to miss you.”

She choked in surprise. “Miss me?”

Draco nodded. “I’ll have your knickers to keep me company.”

Hermione groaned. “Oh, I might have known. You wizards just can’t put that energy to good use. You’ve got to serve yourself a bit of a dessert before dinner.”

“Before breakfast, usually.” Draco chuckled at her horrified face. “A witch like you has to be aware of the natures of wizards…” his voice trailed off. She almost thought to ask him if he was okay when she realized his jaw had turned sharpened. It was clenched tight.

Their footsteps were the only ones on the path back to Hogwarts. It was just before the curfew. They’d be lucky if they made it back without being punished for tardiness. The crunch of each foot fall was a blaring reminder of the quiet calm of dusk.

“Speaking of wizards,” he finally said. His hand slipped through the pockets of his suit coat. She wondered if he was fingering the red lace in there. “Was it Higgs that invited you there or you that planned it that way?”

Oh. Terrence. She hoped he was okay.

“A bit of both,” she answered honestly.

She’d made peace with him being used for her ends, but she felt guilty over his bloodied face. Draco had hurt him bad. There was so much blood.

“Explain,” he barked. The anger raised inside him again.

“He’d offered to take me out. I just decided when and where.”

It was not shocking that Draco was moved to fury as he stepped. His tracks were deeper in the snow. Their breaking of ice beneath his step shattered through the serenity of their trek back.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Hm? A wizard asked you out on a date,” he said. “That’s something I deserved to know.”

“Oi! I have just as much right to be angry at you! You planned your date first. You asked a girl out because you liked her. I asked Terry out so that I might make you jealous. There’s a stark difference between the two.”

He was hardly the blameless one. She was not, she knew. But he wasn’t either.

Their silence resumed. Nothing but the brisk hard steps against the ground. The castle grew closer and closer with each minute. Torches against the gates glowed through the darkness. Soft balls of orange and red with dancing flame inside their cones.

A professor was posted at the gate. Professor McGonagall was there with her arms crossed tightly against her chest. The stern look in her eye spoke to their lateness. She never tolerated those who lacked the decency to keep a schedule.

Hermione dipped her head low because she knew just how disappointed she had made her professor. Why had she wanted to shag Malfoy in the woods?

Oh, right. Because it was amazing.

“Mr. Malfoy. Ms. Granger. I must say I am surprised at the pair of you. Do you know what time it is?” The professor removed the glasses from her nose. “If you weren’t two house Prefects, I’d have half a mind to give you both detentions.”

“So sorry, Professor McGonagall. We lost track of time.”

The beady eyed witch appraised Draco. There was no doubt she was not thrilled with his presence with Hermione. McGonagall was apart of The Order of the Phoenix. The rumors of the relationship between Draco Malfoy and Hermione were fluent throughout the members, which caused a bit of distrust. Even now, there was suspicion in her eyes.

Though there was no evidence of their previous romp, sweat started to drench the fabric beneath her arms. She wrapped her arms around her chest in an embrace. It helped cover the transparency of her flesh that surely told the tale of her loss of virginity.

“Seeing as it is you two, I’ll forgive it. Please, return to your dormitories. And don’t be late again. Next time I shall not be so understanding.”

They were allowed within the gates. The warmth of the castle already burst against their cold faces.

“Thank you, professor,” Hermione said.

Detention for a Prefect was downright mortifying. Even being close to receiving it was enough to shake her back into shape. That was the last time she would tempt Draco into a standoff so late in the evening.

The castle was empty as they walked. Curfew was soon. Most students were tired out after a day in Hogsmeade. It being Valentines Day, no doubt, had most ready for the day to come to an end.

Hermione set upon Gryffindor Tower, ready to shrink out of the dress and cuddle in front of an open fire with Drogon. It was time to lay her revenge to rest. She was successful, but not weightless in freedom. Thus, was the choice she made. She wore the consequences of sacrificing another person’s feelings for her so that she might enrage Draco. It was not right. She had to atone for that falter in her ethics.

Terry deserved an apology. He was a person, not a pawn. She’d allowed her momentarily need for revenge overshadow his right to not be manipulated.

The thought itself was enough to shame and shock her. Terrence Higgs, heartthrob of the wizarding world, actual gentlemen, athletic and humble, wanted her, a bushy haired Gryffindor as a date, and she _used_ him? In what universe did it seem plausible for her to turn down a wizard like Higgs for someone like Malfoy?

To her surprise, Draco did not follow the Grand Staircase down to the dungeons below but rose with her toward the higher levels of the castle.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“Seeing as it was one of our first dates,” he said with a soft humor, “it is customary for the gentleman to walk the witch home.”

“Oh. Right.”

They were silent as they moved through the castle. She was right in her assumption. Not a single soul stirred through the stretched corridors. Hogwarts was devoid of its vibrant life closer to dark, the warmth of students tucked away in its safe corners.

Hermione hummed to fill the silence. Emptiness brought forth her fears. Silence and darkness were hard to fight in the encroaching night where all those things reigned king.

They turned a corner. The Flat Lady portrait was there, still awake luckily, and singing with vigor that her horrendous voice carried through the empty air. It was the first time she’d been grateful to see the large, irritating woman all term.

Draco’s hand steered her away from the eyes of the portrait into a hidden alcove instead, just behind hanging tapestry. It was a breath full of dust and established spider webs.

Their warm lips collided. He found hers through the darkness of the alcove, teasing her with his tongue in excited play. It was impossible to resist. She allowed her mind to fall back to the wiles of lust. Breaths erupted out of their noses as they were overcome with sudden urges. Draco’s hands were laced through her hair. Her arms held onto his shirt and kept him locked in place.

A stiff erection grinded into her thigh. He pushed her against the cold stone wall. Her feet raised higher than the floor the more he held onto her, running his hands all over her. Familiar flooding pooled at her entrance. The absence of her knickers had her rather exposed. Drips of their combined cum on the floor toward Gryffindor Tower was a thrilling way to end the night though.

Her body relaxed against his. It was becoming all too common: legs parted with him in between, his lips fluttering from her neck to her chest to her shoulder back to her lips. An open palm massaged his erection. He arched his back to meet her grasp, smiling through his smiles, enjoying her soft intakes of breath in the silence of the castle.

The buttery finish of his mouth reminded her of butterbeer and the Three Broomsticks. It made her grin as they retracted. Draco straightened his shirt. He made certain to adjust her, too. The one thing his eyes lingered on was the moon charm at her neck.

A glint came to his eye. He ran his fingertips along the chain.

“Just once more,” his soft voice pleaded. He took her hands and raised them to the back of his neck. Their noses brushed together. “Tell me again.”

“I love you, Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don’t plug very often. I love fanfiction and I am fairly new to the scene. However, I was a writer before fanfiction. I’ve released three novels. One that has greatly been affected by my work as a fanfiction writer is called, Beast of Shadow. It is available for download on Amazon and Google Playstore. If you are interested, please check it out. I’d greatly appreciate it. No pressure, though. You’re all amazing readers. I cannot thank you enough for your support through a WIP. I know lots of readers don’t like to invest in WIPs because of the possibility that it might not be finished. You motivate me to finish this story. Never stop the love. Please <3


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize from my absence. School has started and things have bene crazy. My creativity was drained a bit, too. I’m slowly starting to find my groove again. Thanks for much for sticking with the story. I will not abandon it. I appreciate all the support and comments and kudos and likes. It’s all so wonderful and keeps me going. Thanks so much.

# Chapter 24

## The Change

Hermione descended the Gryffindor Tower stairs at her usual time. It was not typical for the lions to stir in that early morning light. The common room, instead of being deader than night, was occupied by one red-headed witch. Her ankles were crossed together.

She wore a woven orange jumper with a flash of a pink collar of a shirt underneath accompanied by worn and torn jeans. Her trainers were small and black with thick white laces.

It was easy to appraise the witches now that she was no longer innocent. Time with Draco, and the happenings between them, erupted a newfound examination of those around her, of all genders. Her eyes noticed subtle things. Attractive and unsightly.

Ginny was a gorgeous witch. She was warm and outgoing. There was little fear to be found within her, a confidence that exuded so much more than beauty. It was easy to understand how wizards gravitated towards her.

The previous night had opened Hermione’s eyes to the art of it all. She seriously inspected herself before she emerged from her dormitory. She wore a white shirt with her black, dragon jumper over top. Her hair was charmed to remain in place: a relaxed knot at the crown of her head. Moon necklace was shiny at her throat. A subtle, oh so slight use of red lip gloss added a pop to her features without seeming so drastic. Her eyelashes were charmed thick and dark, as it was better to flutter her lashes when there was something there.

She allowed herself a quiet moment to ready herself. A wall of secrecy built up thicker around her. Had anyone known what happened, especially a Gryffindor, things might not be so calm within the house.

Times were uneasy. So many whispers and deceit lurked through the air. It hurt to believe she’d become apart of them. Hidden truths. It burned her heart to hold them away from the ones she loved the most.

“Ginny?” Hermione asked.

“There you are!” The witch rushed off the couch. Her hair was in a relaxed side pony at her shoulder. She flung it back over. “You weren’t at supper. Where did you go last night?”

She opened her mouth to explain, but two hands thrust forward at her neck. They gripped the metal charm against her throat.

“What is this?” Ginny squealed.

Her eyes were wide as she absorbed every nook and cranny. Their shimmering blue were so vibrant. It felt a bit special to tell her the truth.

“Draco’s gift.”

“Godric. That’s beautiful. Are those real diamonds? They’ve got to be.”

Hermione pulled away from the prying hands. She waved them dismissively.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gin. It was just a simple gift. Nothing of luxury.”

“Malfoy only knows luxury.”

They climbed through the portrait hole. There were only a few shuffles of footsteps as they entered the Grand Staircase. A warm spill of morning light filled the room with a blooming happiness to Hermione’s chest. Down below, however, her stomach grumbled in utter need for food. She’d missed food the night before.

Of course, lower still, within her knickers, was the difference in her walk. She felt a space inside her now, one that hadn’t ever felt empty, but was now in need of completion. Her lust did anything but fade after her shag with Draco. It was only quenched by the slightest taste of pleasure. There was more. Much more she yearned.

The young witch to her side relayed the happenings of Quidditch practice to a daydreaming Hermione. She spoke of their lack of a plan in the air. They were in great need of practice if they had any kind of chance.

“Poor Ron could barely move afterward,” Ginny commented. “Said his thighs hurt from gripping the broom so hard.”

Hermione paused. “Ron was there?”

“Well, yeah. He’s on the team.”

“But…” she bit her lower lip. “He had a date. With Lavender.”

It was vital that the two had a date, in Hogsmeade for everyone to see. Ron’s date was meant to ease Draco’s suspicions. Their late-night shag might have helped, but Ron being interested in another witch was more so. It had to happen.

Ginny groaned. “Don’t remind me. He planned to go out with her today instead. Getting tea or something. I just hope it convinces him that he’s mental. She’s the worst.”

“The worst is only objective. Your brother might really like her,” she reminded her friend. “We should be supportive.”

It made her sad that Ronald was not able to have his date with Lavender. He seemed rather excited about it. The wizard loved Quidditch, too, though, so perhaps his Valentines Day wasn’t ruined.

The Great Hall was a usual breakfast Sunday crowd. It was more popular than Saturday morning. There was a fair amount who never came for breakfast that were there with their friends.

Her friend led the way to their seats. It allowed the smallest window to flicker her attention to the green table. A favorite blonde was missing from its ranks. It was not typical of Draco Malfoy to miss the morning meal. They were often early risers together.

It was the one morning she needed to see him. She sat poised on the edge of her seat. Her legs bounced below the table as she put on a steady demeanor above the waist. Ginny hadn’t a clue to what had changed. There was no hint to the disruption in her body. Only Draco and Hermione knew the depths they burrowed together.

Memories of the night before brought a sense of urgency. She needed Draco. Her eyes yearned to lock with those suffocating grey eyes and the way they watched waves of pleasure wash through her like not a thing in the world existed outside of them.

“Merlin’s honesty, I’ve been ravenous lately. I can’t get enough of these little pastries,” Ginny said. Her fingers grabbed three onto her plate. “Got to stop myself before term ends. Mum don’t cook these. I’ll be round as a hen when I get back. She’ll be put out of house and home having to feed me.”

“It’s Quidditch,” Hermione explained. “That’s why your brother eats like that.”

“Is it?”

She shrugged. “Partly.”

Draco still wasn’t there as the halfway point of breakfast arrived. He was never late for a meal.

It was becoming a noticeable thing when Hermione’s eyes flickered back to the serpent’s den. More than once, a strange face crossed Ginny when she was met with an absent face, looking over her shoulder, not listening to a word that was said.

Hermione crossed her legs. “I’ve been meaning to ask after Michael. How are you guys?”

She prayed that it would leave certain things unasked. If Ginny didn’t ask, Hermione wouldn’t be forced to lie.

Ginny frowned. Her fingers started picking at her breakfast rather than eating.

“We’re fine. I mean, not the best, actually. Things are okay. He’s just gotten odd about Quidditch now. He won’t talk about it with me. It’s like it’s house secrets or something. Can’t share with a Gryffindor.”

Not that it was ever said aloud, but Michael was not Hermione’s favorite wizard. She tolerated him because of Ginny’s feelings and that was all. He was so snide. The size of his ego rivaled that of Draco Malfoy, the way he went on. He’d thought Hermione only wanted to pass her O.W.L.s and that was the reason for forming the DA, as if she was someone needy enough to use her own friends for information.

There was something displeasing in his attitude. It did not bode well for him in life. He was marked to be an unhappy person if he was so blinded by his own selfish suspicions.

She gave a show of support in the way she thought was best. There was no point in hurting Ginny about her rather prat of a boyfriend.

Honestly, she had little room to critique considering with whom she’d laid with.

“You two are competitors now.” She explained, “There will be some things that are better left unsaid.”

“He used to tell me everything,” Ginny confessed in a somber tone.

“It’s an adjustment. That’s all.”

Nothing more was said on the matter. Ginny was absorbed into her own thoughts, most likely about the changes in her relationship with Michael as Hermione thought of what changes might take place between herself and Draco. She concluded it was the source of his absence at breakfast. Their shag did something.

Did he regret it? Was he sick to his stomach?

Or, was he so confirmed in his prowess that he might move on?

Both ideas were dismissed. His behavior was anything, but capable of turning. He was the same as he had been. She’d only manipulated it to her favor. Draco warned of his obsession. His control of her would never be released.

A hand landed on Hermione’s shoulder. “Morning, Mione.”

“Good morning, Ronald.” She smiled. Her heart fluttered back down. It was painful to think it might have been Draco touching her with a smile on his face. Still, she stowed away the disappointment so that her friend might not realize. “Heard you had quite the practice yesterday.”

He yawned as his fingers shook out the length of his red hair. “Angelina worked us ragged.”

“I hope Lavender was not too crushed.” That was a lie. A nice one. It did not fill her with guilt to say it.

“No. We’re going to Hogsmeade today. Oi, how was your day yesterday? Didn’t see you once, all day.”

All three of her best friends filtered into their usual spots. Harry and Ron on their side, Ginny and Hermione on the other. Soft pleasantries were said over a warm breakfast. Hermione sipped from her tea as Harry relayed over the course of his wreck of a date with Cho Chang.

They all winced as he relayed the final parting of the two.

“Bad deal, mate.”

Ginny nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

He shrugged. It was not devastating apparently. The topic was extinguished.

The end of the breakfast dismissed the students to their own devices. Ron broke away to find Lavender. He was even more eager than she thought he’d be. His best jumper was pulled overtop his shoulders before he stepped out.

With the leaving of Ron, Harry was next to disappear in silence.

Her heart ached in her chest. She found her body wanting to go after him and hug away his fears. Of course, she knew it would not solve a thing between them. Their pride kept them at opposite sides, or so it felt. Little did he know how much she surrendered for him.

The witches retired to the library to fill their morning. Hermione wanted to scan over her week’s studies before it all started. Ginny had a foot of parchment due. Her hands set about to complete it. The quill flickered in small motions as she wrote. A text was opened wide for her to peruse.

Hermione abandoned her belongings to roam through the shelves. The library was virtually dead. Hogsmeade weekends left the castle a mausoleum most times.

Her feet filed through aisle after aisle. Thousands of titles filled her mind. Their dense, thick leather strapped spines written in eloquence. A perfume of wisdom and age.

It made everything serene. The atmosphere of a library was what her mind thought of as perfection, a happy place she went to when things were difficult. Voldemort’s spreading evil was no match for a warm fire and the contents of a good book.

She returned to Ginny’s table, honestly shocked that her two bodyguards weren’t there.

“I wonder where those two are,” she muttered aloud.

“What’s that, Hermione? I wasn’t listening.”

Her friend straightened her back from the former slumped over position.

She sighed. “Nothing. I just thought Goyle and Crabbe might’ve found me by now.”

Those two were nothing but persistent.

Hermione sank into her studious position with her Potions textbook. Her eyes ran through lines upon lines of knowledge she already learned weeks before. It was all the same. Professor Snape would change something last minute that did not align with the prechosen text, but no potions suffered for it so there was no basis for her frustration. Last minute changes happened. Education changed with every waking moment. Things were learned, discovered, recorded. It was not her duty to be inconvenienced by the progress. Only, she was.

What was the purpose of these books if they did not hold the latest information? Why teach students things that were bound to be different? It made things so much harder!

Her head lulled back against her chair. It was no use. She could not focus.

She snapped the book cover closed. “I’m going for a walk.”

Ginny nodded. Her fingers were coated in ink. It was best to leave her to her work.

The castle was rather quiet. The wind pushed against the walls; their groans suddenly audible in the daylight with so few voices to carry the volume above their complaints. Hogwarts was an ancient castle. It withstood the tests of time, though there were admittedly parts that should have been updated, modernized or at least rebuilt so they were useable.

Alas, it was very much in the magical community’s way to not change things. They left their fashions the same, their hair, their wands, their brooms, their schools, their society, the same as the days of Merlin. So few wizards or witches learned the world around them. So many hovered in fear in their homes, content to avoid people different than their way of life.

It was the one drag of being a witch. The world would remain the same unless something big happened. Then, and only then, would the possibility for a shift in their lives present itself.

Therein lied the problem. The Ministry of Magic controlled all things with too tight a leash. Their fear of muggles left them blind to real issues with their constituents. Magic was held hostage by their government. And it was too far gone to introduce change. The Ministry would stomp her out like they were attempting to stomp out Professor Dumbledore. It was only a matter of time. If they suspected war, they’d find some way to control them all.

Options were slim as to what to do outside the walls of school. The Ministry was one of the few things were the power to introduce truth was kept. Truth about muggles and education and equality. It was all there. She’d not get much done without a station to aid her causes.

As the days went by, it became apparent that a career within the Ministry was her future. It crinkled her nose to think that she might be aligned with evil wenches like Dolores Umbridge. Of course, by Umbridge’s history, it was likely they would be at opposite sides for most every argument. Not a bad outlook.

An excited pair of footsteps thundered up the stairs. Hermione heard them coming. She turned just in time for an out of breath blonde witch to wheeze at her feet.

“Hermione! There you are. I’ve been looking all over.” Daphne fanned her face. “Astoria told me what happened. I’m so sorry I - .”

Seeing the witch brought it all back in an instant.

“You’re sorry?” She snapped. “You’re sorry for pretending to be my friend so that I might be out of the way for your sister to go on a date with him?”

“No. You don’t understand.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You knew exactly how I felt about him. I told you. Everything. And you go support your sister in courting him? Were you ever my friend at all?”

The pretty pink flush to her face reddened. “Yes, I am. Of course, I am your friend.”

“Honestly. You think I’ll forgive you for stabbing me in the back?” She scoffed. “I thought better of you. I really did. Now I see you’re just like Pansy. ‘Serve thyself’ isn’t that the motto of you snakes? ‘No else matters but me’. “

Daphne gasped. Her hands covered her nose and mouth.

“I never meant to - . I was just making sure my sister was safe.” The witch dabbed below her eyes. Her blue eyes twinkled with moisture.

Safe? Safe from whom?

What did it matter? She chastised herself. Daphne betrayed her. It was the lowest, sneakiest, most hurtful thing Hermione could think another friend could do to another. If Ginny had done something like that, she’d have cursed her!

Hermione swallowed back her hurt. “Just stay away from me, Daphne.”

She moved backward, keeping her eyes on the witch at all times. It was Pansy’s style to draw a wand on a turned back, but with recent events, it was possible Daphne had similar taste.

Daphne placed her foot a step higher, as if invested in chasing after Hermione, but something else changed her mind. She wiped her eyes and shook her head. Instead, she turned back the way she came. Her blonde top knot bobbed through the rails of the staircase out of sight.

Back to their filthy dungeons. Where she might slither into her other skin.

“Two faced witch,” Hermione mumbled as she stomped higher through the castle.

She tried to push the thoughts from her mind. Her lips forced a smile, but inside it was a broken facade that shattered her confidence.

The victory of Draco meant the loss of Daphne. It tainted the triumph with bitterness.

The lonely castle corridors seemed a fitting place to wind her devastation. The cost of Draco Malfoy rose with every day. First, it was her freedom. Then, the trust of her friends and of the Order. Now it had cost her the friendship of two healthy, supportive people: Daphne and Terry.

What price would be too high?

Either it would come soon or never. Both possibilities frightened her to her core.

Dark cold pockets of air filled the corridors. As she walked, they brushed past her ankles or cheek. As if fingers, grasping out for her warmth. She shivered, ducked out of the forgotten halls, and ventured toward more traveled paths back to the cobblestone courtyard. Fresh air would clear her mind.

Hermione bounced out into the frosty late morning air just as a breath of tension exhaled from her nose. Stagnant air of the castle always created false emotions. It twisted the mind into games.

There was no danger. She was safe at Hogwarts. Nothing awaited her entry to their ranks. Dark legions only followed the disturbed rambling of Lord Voldemort, not a muggleborn witch not yet seventeen.

A few students lingered in the growing rays of light. The only bits of heat to be found in Scotland that time of year. Scarves and mittens and dense cloaks mounded bodies into walking snowmen, arms hoisted by their layers, necks wrapped ten times over.

She noticed a lonely wizard within the shadows. He leaned against a stone column; hood hanged down across his forehead. A small green patch said his house, in case his behavior did not. The black leather gloves gripped onto a dilapidated bundle of pages, barely strung enough to remain in order.

Shadow covered his entire face. There was no hint to his attention or gaze. It gave her a tense feeling to walk by. Something inside knew he watched her.

Her pace hopped downward, out of the courtyard onto the foot bridge. The deep gorge looked beautiful that time of year, in that faint yellow light. Crystal clear water cut through the jagged rocks. The soft rushing gave a nice tune to the peace. A soft churning to chase out the fears of quiet.

The aged wood poked up through her woven gloves as she gripped the railing. Fresh air, chilled by the winter white, stung her eyes and nose and cheeks, but she still watched the cascade of the waters as they coursed their path away.

A steady clicking against the boards erupted beneath her feet. She felt them come.

Her mind felt she knew their identity. She glanced, correct in her assumption of the darkened being cloaked and guarded as a dementor, and turned back to the beautiful beyond.

“Do you mean to frighten me with that garb?” Her voice split the serene.

The figure did not stop. Her feet felt the tremble beneath the boards.

A dark rumble of a chuckle emerged from the black. “I wouldn’t pretend to know what frightens a witch like you, Granger.”

Blaise Zabini removed his hood. A pair of large brown eyes formed in the light.

“I’d wager nothing does,” he said.

“Then you’d be wrong.”

His fingers tapped in succession against his book. “I’d doubt that. Very much.”

She did not know much about the wizard. He was quiet and clouded in mystery. Part of her believed that was what he wanted. Like Draco, the Slytherins seemed to assume masks of themselves outside their common room. 

His mystique did not work on her.

“What can I help you with, Blaise?” Her arms crossed across her chest. “Must be a good reason seeing as Draco has done his work of ensuring not a single wizard will talk to me.”

Blaise tilted his head, intrigued. “Malfoy’s are inherently drawn to those of power. I’m not surprised he’s lost himself in your aura.”

The confidence in his tone leveled hers to the ground.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why the witches shy away from you? The professor’s glance at you a little too long. Perhaps, when you’re not looking.” His tone had dipped lower than a mumble. “They sense something. Can’t you feel it?”

Hermione stepped away. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“They know something is abnormal within you. They know magic inside and out. For years, they’ve learned the sensations of young magic as it grew…Your magic is not how it should be.”

Within his voice was a change. A summoning strength that brought her paranoia forefront.

What did he know? Did Professor Snape betray her secret loss of control?

She dropped her arms to her sides, ready to pull her wand if he turned too threatening for comfort. Her heart primed and readied. It flooded her hearing. Thump thump. Thump thump. Her nose took control of her breath.

“Harry Potter is to the Dark Lord as you are to the wizarding world,” he muttered. “The banished and outcast will rise again.”

He repeated the statement like a mantra, over and over, getting quieter with each moment.

Hermione was baffled. Her heart moved with fury and fear, not a good combination to present a Gryffindor with. Her thumb caressed the tip of her wand for a sense of safety. It calmed her only slight.

“I should go,” he announced suddenly. His hood thrown back over his head. “He’ll be coming. Wouldn’t want to get his knickers in a twist.”

The interaction had her at a total loss for words. Her feet moved back to the castle without thought. His words swirled around. Over and over his statements pierced her focus.

What he’d said matched her beliefs of her life from the beginning. She always knew she was different. It was placed on her magical abilities then on her muggle ones as she transitioned worlds. Muggles could place blame on her magic for setting her apart, just as the wizards casted blame upon her upbringing. That suspicion she did not belong was a constant in her late-night thoughts. Was she not enough for anyone? Was there no place she belonged?

It was not long before a head of platinum blonde appeared in front of her. The creeping tension around Blaise’s words a sharper curiosity.

“You’ve had a busy morning, pet.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Daphne took her frustrations out on me. I’ll have you know.”

Oh. Right.

“Serves you both right.”

His brows jumped. “Of what am I guilty of?”

“Being a sneak.” She rubbed her temples. Shagging hadn’t taken away the massive frustration she still felt on the matter. Draco arranged a date with another witch. “How is your blushing girlfriend anyhow? Recovered socially from the scene you caused at the Three Broomsticks, I’d hope. She won’t last long with the likes of you if she hasn’t.”

His tongue clicked in dismay.

“Spoken rather spiteful for a sneak herself.”

She grumbled. “I already explained Terrence. You, however, have not explained Astoria. Are you – are you going to marry her?”

“No.”

“Isn’t that what courtship is for? Marriage? You wanted to court her which has to mean you wanted to marry her.”

It made her angrier by the minute. Draco and Astoria.

“Pet,” he barked.

His tone made her stop, mid-step.

“Can I speak to you a moment?”

She held her breath. That tone meant something else. “We’re speaking now.”

“Not here.” He wagged his finger. “In there.”

It was a nearby cupboard that was not used for much of anything except storage. She gave a quizzical glance at his determination but allowed his hold on her wrist to pull her inside and slam them shut into the privacy of the dusty room.

Draco grabbed hold of her shoulder. Through the ray of light from beneath the door, the sparkles of his grey eyes bright. They danced down to her lips.

“I left Astoria yesterday to go to you. Do you think my eyes were ever on marriage if I can’t keep away from you?”

“But why in the first place - .”

“We were both doing what our families instructed. It was both our honors placed on the line. I was told by my father what to do. I cannot refuse,” Draco explained. Both of his hands took hold of the sides of her face. His nose rubbed against the length of hers. “Do not mistake my honor with my ambition. I shall still chase you, if you run, and I will hold you down should you fight. There is no escaping me. Remember what I said to you last night? My want for you will only increase.”

She nodded. Her breaths were short gasps. Her emotions were unsteady, whether to be irate or relieved or horny. It was a massive mess in her belly left for her to sort out.

“And it has. I did nothing but dream of you last night,” he continued.

Her dreams were all about him, too. Naughty, dirty. She looked down with a blush.

He chuckled. “I take that I was in yours, too.”

Their lips caressed together. Their gathered moistures swirled atop the pink, tender flesh, in need of more. Always more.

“You must accept there are things I will have to do.”

Absolutely not. She would not allow him to court another young witch while he carried on with her. It was not right. It was not fair. It wasn’t fair to her!

A Malfoy was the boss of his own destiny. Draco made his own rules. He lived by the code that the world was his for the taking as a wealthy heir, so handsome it physically hurt to look away.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Pet,” Draco warned. His eyes stiffened at her gaze. “Accept me. As this.”

Couldn’t he see that she did accept him?

“If I didn’t, do you think I’d lie to my friends about you? Tell them that you’re my friend, too. Not the truth. Not that you forced me into this little game and have now left me tangled in all that you’ve laid. I accepted it, all. When have I not?”

He was not moved by her irritation. Her words were easy enough for him to riddle out and defuse. He had practice. She practically let him run her life because it was easier than the fight it would cause.

Draco pressed his lips gently into hers. Their warmth left an absence when he pulled away from her mouth. “When you chose not to come to me with your problems. You might have asked me to shag you rather than stage a brawl.”

That was his pride. It fed that massive ego hidden with some kind of charm because it was too large to have fit within his slender body.

“That was not the intent I had in mind.” She hissed her words gently. “I thought you’d be angry enough to realize that there were other wizards who’d want me if you thought I was so easy to throw away.”

“Haven’t I always said no wizards, pet? Have I not always known there are wizards that want you?”

“You might have told me, too, Draco. Instead of having me find out,” she replied softly. “Do you know what that did to me? I was…heartbroken.”

He ran his finger alongside her face. “Think a quick shag will make it alright?”

Her jaw dropped. His hand slapped away from her face.

“Draco Malfoy.” She retracted from the closeness of his body. Her face went ten shades of red. “You cretin.”

Through his lips parted a satisfied chuckle. One of the most genuine laughs she’d heard. She allowed herself a quick glance. He was more animated with him facial expressions. There was not much room for a sour scowl through the lines of his smile. Then there was the matter of his posture. It was not poised on edge. He was rather…relaxed?

He slipped his hands into his pockets. When her brows lifted, he offered a shrug of his shoulders.

“Worth a shot.”

She rolled her eyes, hiding the fact that it was minorly humorous.

The room smelled of must and dust. A foul combination. Spider webs were practically tangible throughout the cupboard. She felt their sticky strands all over her. Little tingles went through her scalp as if their bodies roamed through her hair. A shiver went her spine.

Hermione tried to force the thoughts of the arachnids out of her mind with some other conversation. “Where were you this morning?”

“Why? Did you miss me?” His lip curled in the corner.

“No,” she replied swiftly. It was not flattering to have her vulnerabilities aired so easily. Her face was red with embarrassment. “Only, I was left unsupervised. You and your body guards left me to my own devices.”

He smirked. “So you did miss me.”

Her breath caught. “Did you abstain from breakfast just to gauge my reaction?” She gasped.

It was low. Even for him.

Hermione threw open the cupboard door and emerged back into the fresh air with a bubbled frustration founded more in her vulnerability than tension. She disliked having her obvious want of him so easily read. It only fed his ego. She feared for his neck. Too much more weight would snap the poor skinny thing in half!

Draco exhaled a soft chuckle. It took him only a moment to catch up to her pace. Tree limbs for legs gave him incredible speed without the effort.

“I might have,” Draco snickered, “if I’d had the strength to leave you alone for so long.”

Her chest ruptured with breath. “You mean?”

“I was detained with force.”

It implied something bad. Though she couldn’t understand why. He was given the largest margin to operate without professor interference. They knew Lucius’ wrath to be a vengeful one.

She swallowed. “That does not sound pleasant.”

Was it Voldemort? Had something happened she was unaware of?

“Professor Snape was forced to levy detention seeing as that slag at the Three Broomsticks reported me for underage dueling.” His tone was not troubled in the slightest.

An infraction, against a Prefect! Snape had to be furious. He prided himself on his house and the constituents within.

Draco walked with ease. His hand in his pocket, a delightful appearance to his eyes. They were not narrowed and suspicious. He looked joyous.

Had she done that to him?

“I ought to report the dumb bitch for an unhygienic establishment.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Don’t worry, pet. I’ll still have time for you.”

There were many things she knew about Draco Malfoy before the term. One was that he took it personal when he was admonished. It insulted his pride. Deeply.

Jokes that were received without laughter burned him to his core. He was silent and sulked whenever that happened.

She could not imagine what he felt at being lectured by a professor. She knew that if it’d been her to be under McGonagall’s disapproving glare, her face would be red for days. She’d work twice as hard to atone for the sin of her behavior.

His need for her rivaled that of his need to be upstanding in the eyes of everyone.

Her hands fumbled with the edge of her jumper. “I’ll report myself to Professor McGonagall. We can serve our detentions together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I am equally responsible for what happened last night. I should be punished if you are.”

“Well that wouldn’t make much sense since I told them it a fight between Higgs and me, not you, would it?”

She paused. “You framed Terry?”

Draco stopped. His eyes back to their squinted nature, distrustful and loathing. They turned on her. A center of his focus, the bane of his nature, the only thing that consumed his mind, a loathing prey deceiving and alluring. She was.

His voice stiffened; his throat clenched tight enough that the tendons bulged through the flesh. “Of what does that wizard concern you, hm? You said he was nothing. Terrence Higgs is nothing to you. Nothing.”

Jealousy was a snide, cunning trait he used just as sarcastically. It’d grown stronger during term, but never was it so fierce. It was as if he was ready to say the curse of death.

He was right. His need for her swelled.

“He is nothing to me,” she answered. She leveled her eyes with him, firm and unyielding. The steady carrying melody of her tone gave no hint of anything other than truth. “I love _you_. Draco.”

All at once his shoulders settled down from the immense heights of suspicion. Tendons and veins retracted back to the flesh of his neck. The sharp glare in his icy eyes warmed ever so slight.

“Very well, pet.” A soft smile came to his lips. “Come now. I’ll wager you’d like a spot of reading before lunch.”

“That I would,” she replied with a smile. “Very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I know I have alot of stuff going on (my ff.net is even busier) but this idea came to me one night and I've been typing it like crazy ever since. My warnings are worse case scenario because I don't know what might happen. I plan to go through the school years with this story. Hopefully it becomes something you love.   
I love to hear your comments. I don't reply unless directly asked to, but i do see them! if you've commented on something of mine before, thank you very much.


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